


And This Is Love

by misha_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Mythology, Backstory, Biblical References, Gen, Minor Character Death, POV Castiel, Sexual Violence, depictions of hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The working title of this story was <i>I've Been Here A Long Time</i>.  Castiel's story from his birth to his encounter with Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer in the barn.  </p><p>Note about warnings:  The only graphic violence is in Chapter 3, which describes the trip to Hell.  That chapter also includes a short passage that holds the only sexual violence in the story (no major character involvement).  Minor character deaths are unnamed angels or souls in hell and most occur off-screen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love

**Author's Note:**

> Canon is that Castiel has never seen God, but I'm leaving those two interactions in because maybe he just doesn't remember. Trueform descriptions are purposely vague, I see Castiel (a seraph) as taller/bigger than the archangels and made of solidified white light with six flame-edged wings. The archangels are made of solidified sepia shadows in this story. They are corporeal but not human except when they have vessels.
> 
> I tried to stay within Supernatural angel mythology as much as I could and used Catholic angel mythology to fill in the blanks. All "scenes" are as described in The New American Bible. Timeline comes from 6X20 "The Man Who Would Be King" and 8x21 "The Great Escapist".
> 
> Story title is taken from 2 John 1:6 - _And this is love, that we walk according to His commandments. This is the commandment, just as you have heard from the beginning, that you should walk in it._
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by [barefootmorning](http://barefootmorning.tumblr.com). Any errors or omissions are on me. The other three chapters are unbeta'd.

When God sent the seraphim to scour the universe, he gave explicit instructions to bring back the fire of Sirius and the light of Canopus, dust from the surface of Mars and the rings of Saturn. When all had been assembled, the Lord added a careful measure of the primordial stew that would someday be mankind and a spark of the divine. With a whisper of God’s breath and cry of agony, an angel was born.

“What am I?” The angel asked as he studied his wings with wonder. Three pairs of wings, edged in fire, brighter than any star and ignorant of the laws of gravity unfurled one at a time as he stretched them, watched them flex. Once he finished with his cursory examination, he looked intently at each of the other seraphim in turn.

“What am I?” He asked again.

“You are an angel of the Lord, Castiel. You shall love your Father above any, you shall sing His glory, and you shall do His bidding without question,” came the answer in the form of a soft feminine voice. 

“You will watch over the Earth, and in time over mankind. You shall be a warrior and a comforter and an eternally obedient son. And when mankind falls, as surely they must, you will hold the line and ensure your Father’s victory.”

“Do you understand, Castiel?” It was another voice, one that compelled Castiel to answer.

“Yes, Father, I understand.”

**********

“Why am I the Angel of Thursday, Gabriel? What is ‘Thursday’? What’s happening now? Why are there storm clouds? I’ve never seen a storm before. Is this the first storm, Gabriel?”

When Castiel looks over at Gabriel, he sees a familiar pained look and sighs. He’s asking too many questions again. He never tries to annoy anyone with his questions but it’s hardly his fault that he has so many, is it? Gabriel’s form is smaller than Castiel’s, appearing as a shadow, though a shadow solid to the touch.

“What are we doing here? What’s so special about this ocean? I’ve seen it from Heaven since I was born. Why are we here?” The first drops of rain sizzle on Castiel’s wings. This is new. He wants to stand in all his fiery glory and let the cool water from the sky touch him everywhere, but when he’s with the archangels he limits himself to one pair of wings and a solid body of ethereal light similar in size to theirs. 

Castiel picks his way more carefully as the shoreline becomes jagged and the waves grow higher. Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles in the distance and his attention is torn between keeping his footing and watching the awe-inspiring show of his Father’s handiwork in the sky. Gabriel has been stopped for a full second before Castiel notices.

“Don’t step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish.”

Castiel stops and looks down quickly to see a small gray fish pulling itself onto the beach with its front legs. He bends down to look at it more closely, reaching out a cautious hand. He’s never seen a fish with legs before, or one that could breathe outside of water.

“What’s wrong with it, Gabriel? It isn’t breathing properly. We can’t let it die. I’ll help it back to the water and everything will be all right.” He looks up at his big brother, pleading, but Gabriel only shakes his head.

“I promise you that fish will be just fine. He’s why I brought you here today. You needed to see this for yourself. Father wants you to know – ”

Castiel stops listening, too impatient for Gabriel’s riddles. He can’t tear his eyes away from the fish now resting on the black beach, gasping for air through a gaping mouth as its sides heave. He calculates how quickly he could get away – and whether it’s worth the smiting that would surely come if he didn’t get away – if he just knocked it back into the water. Before he has a chance, Gabriel moves in front of him.

“Castiel, listen to me.” Gabriel’s voice is sharper than Castiel has ever heard it. Even as he rises to tower over Gabriel, anger prickles down his sizzling wings. It is almost a match for the worry tightening into a knot in his stomach. He hates nothing more than his family’s displeasure, especially Gabriel’s.

“He needs my help. Please, Gabriel, I have to. He’s going to die if I don’t help him.”

He knows, of course, that fish die all the time. Death is a part of life for mortal creatures. This fish is different. Castiel can’t explain why its continued existence is so important, but it is desperately so. He doesn’t fight the tears that fall down his cheeks as his stomach twists into a tighter knot. He braces himself as Gabriel reaches for him and in a flash of light and a searing breath, they’re sitting on a solitary cloud, far away from the little gray fish on the shore.

“I promised you he won’t die, and he won’t,” Gabriel starts patiently, shaking the rain out of his lush wings. Even as he speaks speaks, Castiel strains to see the beach, to no avail, then finally looks at Gabriel. His mind is whirling with questions.

“Why did that fish have legs? What was wrong with him? He’s different than the other fish. I know he is. I felt that he was different. How is he different, Gabriel? Why is he different?”

“Slow down! I will answer your questions, but you have to let me get a word in,” Gabriel smiles at Castiel, who can feel his brother’s fondness in waves. He bites his tongue and watches Gabriel intently, waiting for the promised answers.

“There is no other angel like you. When Father made you, he took the light and fire of stars and the dust of the universe, just as he did with the rest of us. You are made from His breath and His love and His holiness, just as I am. But you have something I don’t have. Something none of the rest of us have.”

“What am I?” Castiel feels as though he’s asked this question before, long ago in a haze of wonder and pain.

“You are an angel of the Lord, Castiel. More importantly, you are the only one of Father’s children imbued with the same ingredients as the humans who will be. When the time comes, you will understand why He named you the Angel of Thursday. You are more beloved than you realize.”

Castiel sits silently, finding himself without questions for the first time in centuries. He stares at the Earth, so far away with its first storm and its little gray fish on a black beach and he wraps his wings around himself, sniffling away the last of his tears.

“That fish was different because it was a part of you, the first bit of humanity to heave out of the ocean. The ancestors of that fish will become mankind and each and every one of them will be a part of you. You can’t save them all, Castiel. You must learn to temper your heart.”

“I never will,” Castiel replies stubbornly. “I will save as many as I can.”

“I know you will.” Gabriel gives a rueful smile then inclines his head to the next cloud over. “I’ll race you to that cloud. Winner gets to direct the lightning. No disappearing, only flying.”

Before Castiel can accept the terms, Gabriel has disappeared and rematerialized on the cloud in question. He waves to his little brother and then disappears again. With no one watching, Castiel returns to the beach with the human fish. As the storm rages around him, lashing rain once more sizzling on his wings, he stays through darkness and light, breathing strength into the fish again and again because he can’t stand to let it die.

His patience is rewarded when another fish pulls itself onto the beach days later, then another and another. One by one they move off in the direction of the trees behind the first human fish. Castiel smiles, pleased with himself as Gabriel’s words about big plans echo in his head and watches while the fish start to pair off. Maybe Gabriel was right. Maybe the first one would have lived without intervention.

Either way, it was too important for Castiel to leave to chance.

**********

“Be quiet,” Michael warns, holding Castiel in place without touching him. Castiel wonders why his brother brought him to this deserted field. They are invisible to other creatures, existing in a state between reality and unreality, but their voices can still be heard as an ancient whisper on the wind.

From a hundred yards away, they watch Cain lead Abel into his field. Cain’s face is red with anger as he stalks down the path, his brother following obediently, unaware of the gravity of his situation. The hatred and jealousy that roll off the older boy sting Castiel’s grace, make him tremble with fright as he feels these human emotions for the first time. He surges forward only to be stopped by Michael’s will.

“We have to stop him!”

“Quiet!”

“Michael, please. Please stop him. He’s going to kill his brother.”

Castiel looks to Michael in confusion, searching for guidance, for a reason that they are not putting a stop to this. Surely this is a test for them all. Surely Cain is meant to rein in his anger and Abel is to help his brother. Michael must be supposed to show the mercy of the Heavenly Host and Castiel is to – he doesn’t know. Words die on his lips as he looks across the field at the human brothers.

Cain turns suddenly, springing on Abel with his scythe. Castiel draws a sharp breath and cries out, his voice lost as a whistle of the wind through what’s left of the crop. Cain strikes his brother again and again until Abel falls under the onslaught, his blood soaking into the ground. Castiel’s heart aches for Cain’s rage and Abel’s pain. 

The world goes sideways as an ill feeling chokes Castiel from the inside out. His wings quiver with sobs lost on the wind, words that do nothing to stop Cain from hacking at the lifeless body in the dirt at his feet. Michael’s shadowed face is impassive when Castiel looks back to him, once more seeking answers.

When the frenzied attack is over, Cain stands with a heaving chest, staring at the destruction he’s wrought. When he comes to his senses, he turns to walk away, his steps quickly carrying him toward the unseen angels. He starts when a voice rings out from the heavens.

“Where is your brother Abel?”

Castiel instantly recognizes it and falls to his knees, whispering the song of his Father’s glory even as he covers his face with his wings. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts! All the earth is filled with his glory!” 

“I know not,” comes Cain’s reply. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

The whispered song continues, floating on the breeze from Castiel’s devout lips. He dares not uncover his eyes even as he feels Michael depart, leaving him alone in the presence of the Lord who doesn’t notice him and the man who can’t see him. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts! All the earth is filled with his glory!”

“Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the soil!” Cold fear shakes Castiel’s body and he whispers more fervently as his Father’s indignation thunders. “From this moment, the Earth shall never bear you fruit. You shall wander all the days of your life.”

Cain cries out in anguish, a sound that tears at Castiel’s heart. “The punishment is too great my Lord! Surely I will be killed.”

“I shall mark you that all will know you are to live. Sevenfold vengeance will visit anyone who dares kill you. Because of your actions this day, your children and their children after them will be cursed to wander the Earth, ever restless, ever seeking the peace they shall not have.”

Silence falls like a blanket but Castiel’s song continues until he no longer feels his Father’s presence. Cain’s sobs move closer and closer as the man picks his way across the field. When Castiel is certain the Lord is gone, he uncovers his eyes. When he sees the now frail-looking man approaching, he wants nothing more than to show himself and comfort the murderer.

Fearing his Father’s wrath, he stays hidden. He holds his breath as Cain brushes past his hidden form, pausing to look around as though he feels something. Castiel notices a mark on his chest, a tattooed black circle with a foreign letter in the center. When he is out of sight, Castiel takes flight to find his brother, sparing a last glance at Abel’s broken body on the ground.

He finds Michael in Joshua’s garden. Everyone knows it’s where Castiel often whiles away time he should be using for other things. Michael is stretched out in the grass, staring up at the trees. His look has softened when Castiel alights at his feet.

“Why didn’t you let me stop him? Why didn’t you stop him?” Castiel’s accusatory tone sends birds flitting from tree to tree, chattering unhappy and surprisingly rude complaints at the interloper.

“I’m sorry, brother. Sit with me and allow me to explain.”

Michael looks sorry indeed as he sits up and Castiel finds himself desirous of the explanation. He takes a seat beside Michael and folds his wings carefully against his back, unconsciously mimicking his brother’s posture. The birds have settled back to serene songs about the beauty of Eden and the glory of God before Michael speaks.

“Do you know the importance of what you’ve seen?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“Do you remember when Father asked me to cast Lucifer out of Heaven because he refused to bow to mankind?”

Castiel nods, frowning as he tries to work out a connection to a human boy killing his brother.

“When Lucifer fell to the Earth, he twisted souls, Castiel. He took a human woman, these humans you love so much, and he bent her into an unrecognizable monster, an abomination. He created something Father never meant to have walking his Earth. Her name is Lilith and she is a demon.”

“What does this have to do with those boys in the field?” Normally Castiel enjoys the stories of Heaven, he longs to know more and would rather be told than have it imprinted on his brain as innate knowledge. At this moment he feels raw in a way he doesn’t understand and he doesn’t have the patience for a drawn out story. Michael obviously doesn’t care about Castiel’s patience, or lack thereof.

“Father told me to go to Earth and find Lucifer and Lilith. I was to kill her and to build a Hell and a cage in that Hell for our brother. I am a good son, as are you, as are we all.. except Lucifer. I built a fiery pit and I built a cage for Lucifer, which I locked with sixty-six seals. It’s a strong cage and will hold him for a long time. But not forever. I did not kill our brother, but he will certainly wish I had.”

Castiel listens, his head tilted to the side as he watches the pain and anger flicker over Michael’s face. He’s mesmerized by the story, his mind whirling in all directions as he tries to connect it to what they’ve seen.

”You’ve just witnessed Cain killing his brother Abel. Cain is the first murderer in human history. The first. They made their seasonal offerings and Abel’s was more pleasing to Father. Cain’s pride and envy got the better of him. He was so jealous of the favor Father showed his brother that he decided to kill him. That is what you saw.”

“I don’t understand, Michael. Why couldn’t we stop it? Surely, Father – “

“Everything happens for a reason, Castiel.” Michael sighs wearily and holds out his hands. “As I’ve already said: The cage won’t hold Lucifer forever. Mankind, who Father loves as dearly as you do, will someday free him and – “

“Why would they do that? Don’t they know he disobeyed?”

Michael’s laughter lights up the garden and confuses Castiel, who is beginning to feel that ‘confusion’ is his default emotion. Before he can ask for clarification, Michael tosses a pebble at him and continues.

“Free will, brother. Father allows them to choose their own courses, plot their own paths – within their destinies. Sometimes they choose to do what is right. More often, they choose not to. When the time comes for Lucifer to walk the earth again, he shall have to take a human vessel, as shall I. These vessels must be descendants of Cain and Abel. As before them, two brothers were locked in mortal struggle and with them it was the same, so at the End of Days must two brothers struggle for the fate of the world. Armageddon will bring Hell on Earth or Paradise. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“It will all make sense in time, Castiel.” Michael rises, his shadowy form towering over Castiel where he sits. Before he takes to wing again, he tells his little brother, “You are a good and obedient son, and Father’s glory shines bright in your heart. Stay here in the Garden until you feel better. Perhaps Joshua or the birds will come along and tell you a story if you stay long enough.”

When Michael is gone, Castiel stretches out on the grass and stares up at the sky. Neither Joshua nor the birds come to tell him a story, but he finally understands the lesson of today’s test. Castiel realizes that his place in the events he witnessed was to do his Father’s bidding. He draws a deep, slow breath and clambers to his feet.

Once more, he takes flight on fiery wings, landing beside Abel in the field. He raises the bloodied corpse gently, cradling it with four wings while he uses the other two to carry him away from the stained earth. Careful to not be seen, he arranges the body lovingly at Adam and Eve’s door, covering it with a cloth and whispering an Enochian blessing before he departs.

**********

“Why did Lucifer refuse to bow to the humans, Zachariah? Did Father not say we were to love them as we loved Him, ‘for they are formed in my image’? They’re beautiful and fascinating, aren’t they? It’s wonderful the things they think of! Why did Father give them free will if it would only cause Him heartache? What is the purpose of this tower they’re building?”

“You ask too many questions, Castiel.”

Castiel ignores the annoyance in Zachariah’s voice as he watches the bricks made of dried animal dung begin to falter under the growing weight of the tower. When it starts to lean, he holds his breath, watches the men scurry this way and that to try to shore up the faltering structure. They chatter to one another in a common language while they work. It isn’t Enochian, the language of the Holy Host, but Castiel instinctively understands it.

“We should help them. They’ve worked so hard on this; I’ve been watching them for weeks. They’ll be terribly sad if it falls now. It’s a simple matter of weight and counterweight but they don’t seem to understand. Come on and let’s help.”

Zachariah puts his arm in front of Castiel to stop him from moving forward. Castiel tries to brush past the obstruction, but he’s unable to get away before the thirty-seven foot tall structure pitches one last time and crumbles to the ground. The builders howl in anger at one another, none willing to accept the blame for their failure. Almost as one mind, their anger turns to fear that they’ve angered the Lord.

Castiel watches in amazement as a sudden breeze picks up, tossing bricks like they are weightless. The single shouted language diverges into more tongues than Castiel can keep track of as the people start to disappear from the landscape, scattered as easily as the bricks in the wind. When none are left, the wind settles, leaving behind only the scent of animal feces.

“What happened? Where did they all go, Zachariah?”

“Perhaps Father has realized that the humans are always going to be more trouble than they’re worth, Castiel. That was divine wrath in action and you would do well to remember what happens when Father is disobeyed.”

“But, it was only dried dung. It could never have held up to the – “

“Stop defending the apes. Sometimes you’re as bad as they are.”

With that, Zachariah disappears, leaving Castiel staring at the mess in front of him and wondering why anyone would think that being human was bad. To him it seems quite the opposite - full of exciting new experiences and beauty. He sits down on a small pile of bricks and stretches his fiery wings to their full glory, basking in the silence of the plains of Babel and the warmth of the sun.

In the quiet, he starts to rebuild the tower in his mind, considering and discarding various materials that could be used for brickmaking. Once he’s settled on baked clay, he imagines the construction of the tower – accounting for the wind and gravity and a million other contingencies without conscious thought. When the imagined tower stretches to the heavens without toppling, he feels a surge of pride.

With a final survey of the brick-strewn ground, he disappears to seek out the now-scattered humans, eager to study and learn all their new ways of communication.

**********

“But, Uriel, Father said – “

“Father said to take care of it, Castiel, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Now tuck in your wings before someone sees and figures out who we are.”

Castiel kicks a rock and gives a dramatic sigh, but he tucks his wings into his vessel as instructed. This is only the second time he’s worn a human, but he already knows he hates it. They’re itchy and smelly and much too constricting for comfort. He walks in silence beside Uriel, daydreaming about Joshua’s garden and the generations of bees who’ve made it their home before his thoughts turn to the mission at hand.

He’s never been asked to play an active part in one of Father’s missions before and he’s still unclear what his part in this is. What Castiel does know is that when they stopped to talk to Abraham, his nerves got the better of him. Walking down the dusty road toward Sodom, he breaks into a grin at the memory of laughing like a fool when Sarah told the Lord, “I didn’t laugh!”

“What’s so funny?” Uriel smiles at his brother, always keen to share a joke.

“You did, too!” Castiel quotes his Father’s reply to Sarah and his grin widens.

“It sounded like He was married to her instead of Abraham. Can you imagine?” Uriel stands up straighter, looking prim as his voice goes high in imitation of Sarah’s, “‘Lord, be a dear and bring in the wash, won’t you?’” 

Castiel dissolves into laughter, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a snort. Uriel joins in laughing after an extremely accurate imitation of God in an indignant huff. He winks at Castiel as they fall into comfortable silence punctuated by occasional snickers at the thought of their Father married to a human. Sure, Uriel can be a jerk, but he has a way of making everyone forgive him those moments with laughter.

As he relaxes, Castiel allows his wings to stray outside of his vessel’s margins again. He wonders how humans manage to be happy trapped inside one body. Especially without wings he revises as he uses one of his to shade himself from the inescapable heat of the sun. When Uriel clears his throat, Castiel nearly bolts like a spooked horse, stumbling over a rock in his path as he struggles to tuck his wings back in quickly.

“When we reach Sodom,” Uriel starts, finally glancing over as Castiel struggles to regain his balance, arms flapping ridiculously since he doesn’t have his wings for balancing. “What are you doing? Have you never worn a mud monkey before?”

“I only – it..” Castiel straightens himself up, matching Uriel’s proud posture. He shrugs his shoulders and tries to ignore the itching caused by feathers turned the wrong way. Before Uriel has a chance to start on him, Castiel pushes the conversation back to the topic at hand, “When we reach Sodom?”

“Yes. When we reach Sodom, we will take a tent in the town square. After sundown, when the city is sleeping, we will destroy them all. When we have finished, we will move to Gomorrah and do the same. Then at last we will be able to rid ourselves of these vessels.”

“But, Father said that if there are ten innocent people in – “

“Father said that so that Abraham would stop talking. He told us to destroy the cities and that is what we are going to do. If you have a problem with Father’s orders, perhaps you should take it up with Him. I’m just a messenger.”

The gates of Sodom come into view before Castiel can argue, and an excited man rushes out from a house just outside the wall to greet them. The man drops to the dirt at Castiel’s feet, “Welcome, gentlemen! I am Lot. I beseech you to come to my home. Let me offer you an evening meal and wash your feet. Please stay and rest for the night before you continue on your journey.”

“Thank you,” says Castiel, alarmed by the display as he bends to pull Lot back to his feet.

“We will be staying in the town square.” Uriel’s answer is much harsher and Castiel shoots him a dirty look from behind Lot.

“Please, I beg of you, let me show you the hospitality our fine city can offer. It is no trouble at all. You look so weary from your travels. Tell me, where did you come from? What shall I call you? Please, come with me. I’ve plenty of room.”

Castiel pleads with Uriel, unseen by Lot. Finally, on the brink of saying no yet again, Uriel sighs and agrees. Lot takes the archangel by the hand and leads him toward the modest house with Castiel following close behind, feeling immeasurably pleased with himself. He’s certain that if Uriel sees that the city of Sodom isn’t wholly wicked, he’ll spare it.

They dine on unleavened cakes and for the second time in one day, Castiel tries to get the hang of feeding the human he’s wearing. He’s thankful that this is only bread and there’s nothing liquid. Uriel carries the conversation with Lot while Castiel tries not to make too much of a mess of his dinner.

Conversation is pleasant and it becomes ever clearer to Castiel that Lot is a good man. He wants to take Uriel aside and strike a bargain with him to take Lot away in exchange for no further argument about the city, but before he has the chance there is an uproar outside. The angels and the man exchange glances as the sounds of people closing around the house grow louder.

“We know you’re not alone, Lot. Give them to us and we won’t hurt you!”

Lot rises and goes out the door, his voice drifting back in, “These men are under my protection. You will not touch them. Take my virgin daughters if all you want is sex. I’ll gladly spare them in the place of the visitors. It is our responsibility to treat our guests with kindness.”

“Who do you think you are?” The shout from the crowd is followed by more sounds of unrest and others crying out “You’re not even a Sodomite!” and “You’ll get yours when we’re through with them!”

As the unrest grows, Castiel opens the door and drags Lot back in by his robes. With the innocent man out of the way, he holds up a hand and blasts light at the doorway to stop the onslaught. Uriel gives him a warning look, but he ignores it as he turns to the stunned Lot.

“Where are your daughters? Have you any other family?” 

When Lot only stares blankly, Castiel shakes the man by his shoulders. He leans in close, his vessel’s nose almost touching the human’s.

“Lot! You have to listen to me. Do you have any other family in Sodom?”

“I have.. I have my wife and my daughters. And their betrothed,” Lot finally stammers as he stares wide-eyed at Castiel. Uriel steps between them, pushing his brother away. He shakes his head, but Castiel disregards it and looks around Uriel’s shoulder.

“You must take them and leave this place. We were sent to destroy it for its wickedness. I know you’re not wicked, so please, take your family and leave Sodom. Go, now, and don’t look back!”

Lot stumbles out of the house, calling for his family. Castiel’s shielding keeps him safe from the townspeople who are milling around in confusion and fright. When Lot returns to the house with his wife and daughters, he tells the angels that his future sons-in-law rebuked him.

“They deserve to die for their stupidity,” Uriel growls. Castiel glares as he tries to calm Lot’s daughters and force the whole family into gathering a few possessions. He scurries around like a shepherd tending his flock, making sure none of his chosen humans stray. His voice soothes even as he pushes Uriel out the door, asking him to give them until sunrise before he destroys the city.

Uriel grudgingly agrees, leaving for the city center as Castiel continues to help Lot and his family with preparations for leaving. He explains to them that they shall go over the hill and keep walking and he tells them over and over of the importance of not looking behind them. Lot argues that he doesn’t want to leave this country behind. 

“Would you have me disobey my Father’s instructions?” The last of Castiel’s immense patience is finally used up with the argument and once more he finds himself nose to nose with the human.

“Please spare Zoar and allow us to go back there. It is not wicked as this place is,” Lot begs. Castiel agrees to shield the town so that Lot will stop talking.

As the first light of dawn breaks, Castiel tries to send the family on their way so that he can help Uriel with the destruction. He believes now that Sodom is irretrievably wicked and feels he has done his duty in saving the only innocents. Lot refuses to go for reasons Castiel can’t grasp, and as the light grows, so the angel takes the hand of the man and that of his wife. He leads them to the top of the hill and urges them on their way. They go, finally.

Castiel, true to his word, goes to Zoar ahead of the family and wards it against the sulfurous fire that will rain down from the heavens. He stays, a calming presence for the people of the much smaller city, until Lot and his family arrive. When he sees the man and his daughters, he rushes out to meet them. It is not a moment too soon as the firestorm starts in the sky.

“Where is your wife?” His voice is brimming with concern as he steadies Lot. The daughters are weeping and Castiel, once more their shepherd, leads them to an empty house he’s found for them to start anew. “Lot, where is she?”

“She looked back. She looked behind us and.. “ He sobs and Castiel pulls him close to comfort him. He knows that she would have been turned to salt upon looking back without Lot finishing the sentence. He holds the man as he cries for the loss of his partner, whispering soothes in Enochian until Lot falls into a fitful sleep.

“Take care of your father,” Castiel tells Lot’s daughters before he departs. “He will need you in the coming days.”

“Thank you, Castiel. Thank you for all that you’ve done for us,” they tell him, gratefulness shining on their faces as they touch his vessel’s robes. “Please let us repay you somehow. We would have perished without your intervention!”

“When you see me again, treat me as well as you would treat a king in your presence.” Castiel pulls himself way from the young women and leaves their sight and their words of gratitude, feeling as though somehow there’s more he could have done to spare them the pain of losing their mother. 

When he’s safely out of sight, he extracts himself from the vessel. He’s careful in doing so, making sure to leave the human he was wearing in as good of shape as he can – fast asleep under the shade of a tree. Satisfied that the man will be able to make it back to the house where Lot and his family can nurse him back to full strength, Castiel stretches his wings and flexes them as though for the first time.

He fully plans to avoid both his Father and Uriel until they’ve had a chance to forgive him for what they will consider disobedience. After he’s worked the knots out from two days jammed into the much-too-small vessel, he takes flight in search of Gabriel for help soothing the itchiness that still prickles up and down his wings. It is not until he’s far, far away that he realizes he never learned what his role was supposed to have been.

**********

“Kill him!”

“No!”

“Castiel!”

“I won’t! He’s an innocent child and I will not kill him.”

“Nor will you save him,” Naomi hisses, her voice low and menacing. With a snap of her vessel’s fingers the boy falls to the floor. He’s dead, just like the others before him. Castiel looks down at the child, sorrow filling his heart to bursting as he sees flashes of the life that’s been cut short.

Tears stain the cheeks of Castiel’s vessel before he looks up at his sister again. His voice is shaking with anger when he tells her, “Do to me what you will. This is unjust and I will not help.”

She inclines her head toward the door and Ion, her second-in-command, shoves Castiel in that direction. He trips over the step down, and falls to the ground. Naomi is upon him in an instant, holding him down easily.

“Ion, continue until I find you,” her eyes never leave Castiel’s as she gives the command to continue the slaughter. “Kill every first-born of any age, including the animals. Pass only over the houses marked properly with lamb’s blood.”

“Yes, Naomi.” Castiel faintly catches the disgusted look Ion gives her before he departs, hoping against hope that his obvious distaste for the order will be enough to stop him from carrying out this wickedness. He knows in his heart, however, that Ion is a better soldier and will do as he’s told. He stares back into the eyes of Naomi’s vessel, biting his tongue against the words he desperately wants to say, biding his time.

When Ion is safely away, his sister pushes quickly to her feet and drags him after. To a bystander, the slender woman manhandling the much larger man to his feet and away would be incongruous, but Naomi is so much older and more powerful than Castiel is. He allows his vessel to follow without protest as she drags him away from any potential witnesses.

“Why is everything a battle? Why do you insist on fighting on the side of the humans when you know we will win? You’re broken, and nothing seems to fix you. Father thinks you’re his golden boy, his obedient son, and the one who loves him most when really it is the rest of us always cleaning up your messes. Why can’t you just obey?”

Castiel takes a step backward as she spins on him, her form threatening to spill out of the margins of the human she’s wearing. He puts up his hands to protect himself from a blow that never comes. The silence stretches on and he can feel the fury rolling off Naomi, wave after wave of something that borders on hatred. When he finally realizes she’s waiting for an answer, he scrambles for one.

“I do love Father most. I love Him above all and I obey Him,” he tells her evenly. “Father said, ‘love them and protect them,’ and that is what I do. When he said to kill the first-born, he didn’t say to enjoy it or to make a game of it. It was supposed to be done in one fell swoop, you were not meant to make it any harder than it had to be.”

The intensity of her fury only increases as Naomi opens her mouth to say something, but Castiel leans closer to whisper a warning, “You are on a dangerous course, sister. Lucifer was relegated to the pit for his hatred of mankind. You would do well to remember that.”

Without a word, she lurches at Castiel, knocking him backward until all he can feel is the hard ground against his vessel’s back as he struggles to catch his breath.

***

Castiel opens his eyes to the warm sunshine in Joshua’s garden. A bee hovers a foot away from his face. He doesn’t remember coming to the garden or stretching out on the grass, but he finds himself here more and more often. He watches as the bee buzzes happily in a circle, losing himself in the intricacies of its little dance. It’s the one language in all of creation he hasn’t quite worked out yet.

A shadow crosses Castiel’s face as someone leans over him and the bee flies back off to do what bees do when they’re not being watched. Joshua’s soft voice floats down from the halo of light.

“Are you watching the bees again, Castiel? Have you figured out what they’re saying yet?”

“I haven’t. Their language is so complex,” Castiel answers, smiling as he sits up and folds his sprawled wings in closer to his body. “Perhaps I never will! Perhaps the language of the bees and the conduct of men will be the only things in Father’s creation I will never understand.” 

The thought of the former pleases Castiel, the latter not quite as much. He gestures for Joshua to join him on the soft grass, eager to hear a story from before his birth like only Joshua can tell.

“I’ve work yet to do.” Joshua watches Castiel with undisguised affection, returning his smile. “I didn’t even know you were here until I heard the bee buzzing at you. When did you come into the garden?”

“I.. I’m not sure,” Castiel stretches his wings one at a time as he thinks and he tries to ignore the dull ache that’s starting in his head. These aches, so foreign to an angel, have been more frequent. Finally, he stands, his bright form towering over his brother’s. “I will leave you to your errands. Do let me know if the bees tell you anything.”

Joshua laughs and shakes his head. As Castiel makes his way to Eden’s gate, his brother calls out fondly, “They don’t tell anyone but you, Castiel.”

**********

“And when you have successfully completed this task, I will know that you are ready for your life’s work. Do you understand, Castiel?”

“Yes, Father. I understand.”

When Castiel finds David tending his flock of sheep, he decides to remain hidden. For days, he watches as the young man shepherds lovingly, growing more and more certain he’s chosen the right person for the job. The boy sings to the sheep and tends to their wounds with hands that are gentle and sure. When wild animals threaten, he never hesitates in slinging rocks to drive them away and he’s got the best aim Castiel has ever witnessed.

The weight of this assignment weighs heavy on Castiel’s mind. For the first time, Father has given him a task to do alone. It’s a simple enough task – choose a man to fight Goliath of Gath, who has caused no end to headaches for Saul. The hard part is that the Lord told him to make the defeat as humiliating for the Philistines as possible. 

His first thought after being given the assignment was this boy he’d watched kill lions and bears to keep his sheep safe. After several days more of watching, Castiel’s mind is set. He goes to Saul’s army and spreads the word that any who defeat the Philistine will be given great wealth and a wife and a place in Israel.

With that done, he returns to whisper thoughts into Jesse’s head.

“Tell your son David to take his brothers these loaves I am granting you, and this cheese to their commander. Saul’s army can be found facing the Philistines. Tell him to be brave and obedient and to bring back a token of your other sons’ lives.”

Castiel leaves the father and son and goes back to watch as, day after day, Goliath of Gath comes out to lay down the gauntlet for the Israelites. His certainty of his course never wavers, even as the sons of Israel shiver in despair. Castiel knows their savior is coming in the form of a young man with a sling and deadly aim.

When the day comes that David shows up at the camp, Castiel beams with pride, though there’s no one around who can see him. David delivers the loaves and the cheese and talks to the other men in his brothers’ garrison. He’s told again and again of the riches that await any man who slays the leader of the Philistines. Just as Castiel imagined he would, David boasts of his prowess so loudly word gets back to Saul.

When Saul sends for David, Castiel has a sudden doubt about sending a boy into battle against Goliath. He eavesdrops on the conversation as David convinces Saul that despite his age and size, he’s the perfect man for the job. Castiel is convinced as well and he returns to the battlefield while Saul clothes the boy in armor.

The angel is both surprised and slightly awe-struck when David strides out onto the field in his robes, carrying a staff. Having turned down armor and better weaponry, it is clear he plans to use his sling to take on the Philistine. As Goliath of Gath picks his way across the field toward the much smaller David, Castiel’s stomach twists uncomfortably. He wishes with all his heart that he’d chosen someone taller and stronger and more adept with weaponry.

Words are exchanged between the combatants while Castiel tries to decide whether to intervene further. He is still caught in indecision when he sees David running away from Goliath. Finding himself suddenly acutely aware of his Father’s gaze, Castiel covers his eyes with his wings at once and begins to sing the Lord’s glory, his voice a whisper in the breeze.

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts! All the earth is filled with his glory!”

There is a dull thud and a cheer goes up from the Israelite side of the battlefield. David’s name is chanted over and over again, those voices mingled with others praising the Lord as Castiel’s heartfelt song continues. Though he can’t look, he knows at his core that David has saved the day. He’s proud of his tactical acumen and relieved that he chose well. He continues his song until he feels his Father depart.

Slowly, Castiel uncovers his eyes to see the triumphant David walking toward the side of Israel with Goliath of Gath’s head dangling by the hair from his fingers. As men twice his size congratulate the boy, Castiel leaves David to his reward and returns to heaven.

He is greeted by the archangels and cherubs and by other angels who know him well. Castiel finds himself congratulated much as David was on the battlefield, each angel taking his or her turn in praising his planning and execution, telling him how sly he was to choose a shepherd boy and how brilliant it was that the boy faced down the Philistine with only his sling and a rock. Castiel feels a bit guilty taking credit for the human’s actions, but he reminds himself that it was his foresight that made it come to pass.

When the angels have filtered away, Castiel makes his way to his Father’s throne. He falls to his knees and covers his eyes with two of his flame-edged wings, bowing low in the Lord’s sight. He waits, his stomach still knotted as though he’s done something wrong or perhaps just not exactly right.

“You have made me proud and you have proven yourself ready for your command. From this day forward, you will lead the garrison that protects mankind from Lucifer’s demons. You are not to intervene until the appointed hour, allow your brethren to do that so your behalf. Guard your flocks, Castiel – your garrison and the people of my creation – and love them with all your heart. Know that my favor follows you in this endeavor.”

“I shall protect them to my very last breath, Father. Thank you for bestowing this honor on your undeserving son,” Castiel’s heart nearly bursts with love, both for the Lord and for the humans he already adores so much. He prostrates himself and sings the glory of his Father with lips as devout as the day he was born.

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts! All the earth is filled with his glory!” 

“When the appointed hour comes, you must be strong and not waver in your duty. Yours is not an easy task but it is the most important. Go, now, to Michael and earn your blade, Castiel.”

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts! All the earth is filled with his glory!” Castiel continues his song as he backs from the room, his eyes still covered by his wings. When he’s left his Father’s sight, he breathes a sigh of relief. His head is awhirl with the weight of the responsibility now resting like a king’s mantle on his shoulders. He beams with pride as he takes off to find Michael and earn his angel blade as his Father instructed.


	2. Obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the long span between Castiel earning his angel blade by defeating Michael in mock battle and Dean Winchester going to hell, with a huge helping of angel family drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Castiel presided over Dean's birth and watched over him as a child, just as Mary promised. Not that it helped.
> 
> Minor notes: It was never explicitly stated in canon what type of angel Anna was, so I made her a seraph like Castiel. Samandiriel is the correct spelling, so I went with that. Also, I have no idea how angels are awarded their blades, so I made it cool.

“Get up and do it again.”

Castiel tries to ignore the pain in his arm as he struggles to his feet.  Michael may be smaller, but he is both stronger and a much more practiced fighter.  When Castiel reaches for the mock blade he’s been using, Michael kicks it out of his reach.  He lunges after it, a fast moving ball of flame-edged wings and bright white light and as his fingers close around the hilt, Castiel feels the dull thud of Michael’s weapon connecting with his side.  Undeterred, he flips over and in his anger, rises to his full height – a height no archangel could ever match.

The weapon falls to the ground with a wooden clatter, Castiel’s non-corporeal body unable to grasp it.  Michael backs away, eyes wide in the face of the tendrils of shifting dust and fire and light whipped with darkness that make up the seraph’s true form.  In all the millennia since his birth, Castiel has only taken this shape a handful of times and never in the presence of another angel. 

Michael is sent tumbling backward as Castiel leans down, roaring his shrill fury at the now insignificant figure at his base.  Castiel follows, screaming voicelessly, ceaselessly, the celestial wail swatting Michael as though he was a fly.  When Castiel falls to silence, Michael scrambles to right himself.  Though he looks terrified, his voice is steady.

“ _Finally_.  I started to wonder if it was even possible to make you angry.  In a hundred years of this, you’ve never done what is required to win until now.  In a hundred years of this, you’ve let me hit you and hit you again and you’ve barely fought back because you were too afraid of your true nature.”

Castiel, fully expecting to be rebuked for losing his temper, is surprised by the words.  He calms himself, pulls himself together both figuratively and literally, slowly returning to his familiar shape.  He leans down to pick up the wooden blade, gripping it more comfortably than he was ever able to before as he studies Michael’s face intently for any hint of disapproval.  He finds none.

“Do you understand now what you have to do, Castiel?  War is not kind, nor is it fair.  If you are to protect those in your charge, you must be willing to use everything at your disposal, to do _whatever it takes_.”

“Yes, Michael,” Castiel replies thoughtfully, “I understand.”

The wooden weapon in his hand turns to metal, growing heavy against his palm.  Castiel looks down at the silvery blue of the angel blade, turning it this way, and that to catch the light, a feeling of awe with an undercurrent of fear curling through his chest.  With this blade, he can kill anything.  With this blade, _anything_ can kill him.  Michael is smiling when he looks back up, a rare occurrence.

“Keep it close and use it well, brother.  You have earned it.”

Castiel nods and forces a smile of his own, allowing the blade to sheathe itself against his body before he takes to wing to visit Joshua in the garden.  He knows he should be proud of this accomplishment, prouder than of any other before it, but all Castiel wants is to shake the rolling unease in the pit of his stomach.

**********

“This is to be your garrison now, Castiel.  I will be here to help if you need me.”

Castiel doesn’t even have to look as Anna takes a seat beside him on the cloud to feel the affection in her words and her gaze.  Of all his brothers and sisters, Anna is the one of which he is most fond.  She is as capable a warrior as Michael, as fierce a tactician as Uriel, but there is a weary kindness about her that makes Castiel feel more protected than with both his brothers together.

“I’m not certain what I am to do.  Father told me to watch and allow those in my garrison to run interference.  That seems cowardly to me.  Is it because he doesn’t trust my ability?  Because I am not battle hardened?”

He turns his gaze to Anna and soaks in the gentle orange light that rolls off her wings.  Though he may be biased by the fact that she’s a seraph like him, Castiel believes Anna to be the most beautiful angel in the garrison.  She studies the ground so far below, her face untroubled though she’s obviously deep in thought.

“Father needs you safe,” she says finally, turning to look at him.  “You had to learn to fight and you must learn to lead – but your safety is imperative while you learn – because when the appointed hour comes, you will have the most important task in all of creation.”

Castiel waits for her to continue, but she looks away again.  He follows her gaze, watches shepherds tending flocks and crops of maize and wheat growing and being harvested as the silence stretches on for weeks, then months, then years.  Two generations of sheep have come and gone before he replies.

“What is my task?”

“You will know when it is time to know.”

He expected no better answer, so Castiel is unperturbed by his sister’s words.  He offers a noncommittal response, and Anna disappears with minimal explanation about demon activity on the large island continent.  Castiel knows she can take care of the trouble on her own and so he returns to watching as the Earth turns below his perch.  Animal herds grow and shrink, men are born and die, there is war and peace and war again, and Castiel’s affection for the humans seems to know no bounds.

***

“Aren’t they wonderful, Anna?”  He’s uncertain exactly when she rejoined him, but he’s been bursting at the seams to talk to _someone_ about this for years.  “Look at them, how they take what meager portions they are given by the Earth and do the most incredible things!  They’ve domesticated horses now, can you believe that?  _Horses_.  Uriel said they would never outsmart the horses.”

Anna’s gentle chuckle warms Castiel from the inside out.  Although she may not share his affinity for mankind to the same degree, she is always ready to indulge it and take pleasure in the way he marvels at the things humans get up to.

“Uriel has always underestimated humans.  Mark my words, Castiel, that will be his downfall.”

It’s an opinion shared by the whole of the garrison.  While it would be a difficult task to find an angel who loved people more than Castiel, Uriel’s disdain for them colors his words and actions even more than most.  Somehow, though, Uriel stays just inside the line of what could be considered outright disobedience to God’s – and by extension, Castiel’s – orders, so there’s little the seraph can do except bite his tongue and fume silently.

“Are the demons taken care of?”

“It was a minor disturbance.  Inias and I were able to handle it easily enough.”

Anna’s face is turned up in the familiar fond smile when he looks at her again and Castiel feels his wings begin to relax with the knowledge that at least some of his garrison feels no division of loyalty.  He looks away again and fixes his attention on the emergence of yet another language in a far corner of the largest continent.  He wills it to develop faster so that it will be worth adding to his growing collection of human dialects.

“I heard a rumble of something troubling when I was on Earth.  Did anyone visit you in my absence?”

“No, I was here alone while you were gone,” Castiel tells her, his grace prickling with the immediacy in which she closes herself off from him.  He looks back at her, surprised by the reaction.  “What did you hear?”

“It shouldn’t come from me.”

“ _Tell me_.”

“Go, talk to Joshua.  Please.  I will keep your watch here.”

Castiel’s throat tightens when Anna refuses to look at him again.  He hauls himself to his feet, a nervous hum of energy flowing through his body.  Without further argument, Castiel returns to Eden for the first time in centuries.

**********

“I’ve been expecting you.  Come sit with me and we’ll talk.”

To Castiel’s relief, Joshua doesn’t seem to have changed in his long absence.  His voice is as warm as ever and as he leads the way to the shade of the Tree of Life, the knots of worry in Castiel’s shoulders start to ease.  Joshua takes a seat, his legs stretched out as he leans back on his hands; his shadowy wings folded close to his body.  Castiel stretches out on his back on the warm ground to look up at the fruit-heavy branches of the tree.

He sighs, glad to be home for the moment regardless of the circumstances.  Joshua waits while Castiel counts the fruit, long a favorite pastime.  Soon, the bees begin to make their way to the angels, dancing in front of Castiel’s eyes in the dizzying dance he still hasn’t managed to decipher.  He smiles to himself and stretches his wings before reluctantly turning his attention to the purpose of his visit.

“Anna tells me there is trouble on Earth.”

“Anna is mistaken.”  Joshua’s voice is still soft, but it holds an edge that draws Castiel’s full attention.  “The trouble is here in Heaven; the goings on down there are only spillover effects.”

“What do you mean?”  Castiel sits up, pulling his wings in closer to his body as he searches Joshua’s face.  “What is spilling over?”

“Do you remember when Father took a scribe?  When He told the assembled angels that it was imperative His instructions be written for future generations?”

“I do.”

Joshua is silent; his eyes fixed on a bee that is busy making circles around Castiel’s head.  Castiel’s body tightens with worry again as he waits for his brother to continue, swallowing down the questions that threaten to spill out in his impatience.

“When that scribe – Metatron – finished recording His instructions, Father left Heaven.  He didn’t tell any of us where He was going.”

“When was this?  When will He return?  What is the trouble?  Why didn’t anyone _tell_ me?”

Panic rises through Castiel as his mind scrambles to form answers to his own questions.  Surely this is a mistake.  Father would never leave without giving him better instructions, without giving him his purpose, without a word.  It _has_ to be a mistake.  Castiel watches as sadness draws Joshua’s shadowy face and worry creases his brow.

“I’m sorry, Castiel.  I wanted to tell you.  There were many of us who wanted to, but Michael and Naomi thought it better if we didn’t.  Now that you know, I can tell you everything.”

Castiel fights to stay calm as he waits for answers, wrapping his wings tighter against himself like a child with a security blanket.  His heart is heavy with sorrow and fear; a fine tremble wracking body and wings as the finality in Joshua’s tone sinks in.  _‘Father left Heaven.’_

“It’s been almost five hundred years.  No one save Metatron knew the plan and when Father was safely away, he came to us to deliver a message.  He said Father had grown weary of our treatment of His other creations.  Of the humans.  He created them to give us a higher purpose, so that we wouldn’t while away our time doing nothing of import, but could instead have a reason for being.  We were supposed to love them as much as He did, and we’ve failed. 

“Gabriel and Balthazar treat them as playthings created for their amusement, Uriel and Zachariah show open contempt for them and I know you’re well aware that Naomi is no better.  If we were going to choose our own petty desires over humans, Metatron told us, Father was choosing them over us.  He’s gone to live among the people He created, and I don’t know when – or if – He will come back.  No one knows.”

Joshua’s words bounce off Castiel like hurled stones, each one more painful than the last.  He is unable to process the entirety of what is being said, taking to heart only “we failed” and “no one knows”.  Were it a possibility, Castiel knows he would be sobbing.  Tears are a human affliction; however, so instead he sits, mute and staring with unseeing eyes at his brother.

“I’ve no doubt you have noticed the increase in demonic activity on Earth these last few centuries.  If I hear reports here in the Garden, I can only imagine what it must be like out there.  They are looking for Father at Lucifer’s behest.  He wants to get on Father’s good side so that perhaps he will be released from the pit.  That is according to the intelligence gathered by Naomi’s garrison.” 

Joshua falls silent, though Castiel can feel his expectant gaze.  He says nothing, mind reeling as he tries to process this new information, growing more and more confused and angry that it was kept from him for so long.

“Castiel?”

He doesn’t answer.  In all the languages Castiel knows, there are no words to convey the depth of his grief at the news.  He finally pushes stiffly to his feet and turns away, his voice a raw whisper, alien to his own ears.

“Anna is awaiting my return.”

“Wait.  There is something else you need to know.”

Castiel stops in his tracks and cocks his head to listen but doesn’t turn around.

“Father talks to me at times.  I _don’t_ know where He is, but I _do_ know He is safe..  and proud of you.  He wants you to continue your watch and to prepare yourself for the battle ahead.  Father trusts you to do what your heart says is right.  He told me that.  He told me to tell you not to waver from your path because your most important task is yet to come.  Those are your orders, Castiel: observe, protect, prepare.  I am sorry I couldn’t bear better news.”

Castiel nods curtly and takes once more to wing.

When he returns to his favorite perch, he is unsurprised to find that Anna is gone.  It’s better this way he assures himself, reclaiming his place as the Heavenly sentinel over the world below.  He scans the horizon, watching as civilizations rise and leaders fall, wondering all the while where his Father stands in the fray. 

He is quicker to send his subordinates to take care of potential problems than before, taking his orders seriously and hoping against hope that each demonic uprising will lead the garrison to God’s human form.  It doesn’t happen, but Castiel never loses faith that it might.  Day and night Castiel watches over his flocks, protecting the angels and people in his charge to the best of his ability.  Above all else, he ensures that both he and his garrison are prepared for whatever is to come.

**********

“The war is over, Castiel.  There were many casualties on all sides, but it is finally settled.  Michael has taken Heaven.”

“Michael is most able to lead us, is he not?”

Castiel turns his head to find Gabriel sharing his perch, looking resigned to both the current state of Heaven’s leadership and Castiel’s lack of understanding.  He shakes his head as he leans forward to focus on a Pagan ritual being performed in the thick forests of Europe.

“No angel was ever meant to control the entirety of the Heavenly Host.”  He’s quiet for a beat as he nearly falls off the cloud in concentration.  When he looks away from the ritual and back to Castiel briefly, his shadowy features seem less troubled.  “But if it has to be anyone, I guess Michael’s the best choice.  Certainly better than Raphael, though _he_ was very nearly victorious.”

Gabriel doesn’t see when Castiel nods in understanding, his eyes already focused back on the forest.  Castiel looks down to find the ritual in progress, trying to figure out which part of it is holding Gabriel’s attention so.  Before he has a chance to ask, Gabriel is gone.

In the return of silence, Castiel considers the new intelligence.  It isn’t as though it matters _who_ is calling the shots if Father isn’t there.  Whoever it is will still be following the instructions He left behind, so for all intents and purposes, Father is still in control of Heaven and the Heavenly Host.  Nothing has _really_ changed.

And since Michael was entrusted with Castiel’s battle training, it stands to reason that he is aware of the latter’s Great Mission, so there’s no cause for worry on that front.  Michael is loyal to Father and a just and capable leader.  _Yes_ , Castiel decides _, if any angel has to be in charge of Heaven in Father’s absence, there could be no better choice than Michael_.  He searches for flaws in his conclusions and, finding none, he relaxes.

Castiel is so busy watching in rapt attention the growing pains that mark the beginnings of the Christian Church that he barely feels Gabriel and, two centuries later, Balthazar drop off his mental map of his garrison.  When he finally realizes they are no longer answering his requests for information, they are too close to humanity for Castiel to easily locate them.

He makes a note to have Anna lead a party to look for them when next he sees her, but gives it little further thought.  The garrison is still a powerful mix of angels of various ranks and abilities; if Gabriel and Balthazar would rather live among the humans, Castiel is delighted.  When he realizes that perhaps living side-by-side with mankind will teach the two a little respect for the ‘hairless apes’, he smiles to himself and regards this as a fortunate turn of events after all.

**********

“Castiel!  Castiel, look!  You have to see this.”

Castiel starts with the sudden commotion as Samandiriel drops, breathless, the tips of his wings beating the air frantically as he unceremoniously takes a seat to Castiel's right.  To his left, Anna appears, laughing and equally breathless.  Inias settles on her other side, unable to control his snickering.

“What is it?  What’s going on?”

Castiel follows the gaze of the other three to the hottest continent, his grace quivering with the excitement rolling off them in waves.  He searches the desert sands until the rougher mountainous terrain comes into view.  Much to his delight, men and goats are gathered around bushes, both species eating the berries.

“Is that..  coffee?”

“Yes!” Samandiriel’s reply is enthusiastic and accompanied by another quiver of his wing tips in excitement.  “We’ve been watching the goats eat the berries for so long and finally one of the men tried it.  You should have seen him, brother!  After chewing up and spitting out a handful of the berries, he didn’t sit down again until well after sunset.”

The others break into laughter again and Inias covers his face from view with a wing.  Castiel studies him for a long moment, then gives up trying to figure out why he seems embarrassed and looks back at the men and their herds gathering in ever greater numbers around the coffee bushes.

“The humans learned about coffee from watching the goats eat the berries?  Remarkable.”

Castiel’s moment of awe at the ingeniousness of mankind is cut short; however, when Anna clears her throat.  With all three brothers’ attention, she mutters under her breath.

“It’s better than what they usually  see fit to do with goat’s mouths.”

“Anna!”  Samandiriel looks positively scandalized by her insinuation even as Inias breaks out into helpless laughter once more, his wings pulled tighter around himself to muffle the sound.  It takes a moment for Castiel to realize what his sister is referring to, but when he does, he sits up straighter, his wings snapping reflexively into better posture, and he stares at the men on the ground.  He stares so hard that the men start to mill anxiously, looking Heavenward as though they can feel his gaze.

“They really..  breed with the mouths of goats?  Uriel’s joke isn’t..  it isn’t a joke?”

“That’s what makes it so funny, Castiel!”

Anna’s laughter rings out bright and clear as her entire form shakes from the tips of her wings to her feet.  Inias seems to have given up on controlling his own laughter, his wings spread wide as his body convulses with near-sobs of amusement.  When Samandiriel turns traitor and starts to giggle with them, Castiel gives up any hope of having a mature conversation about how astounding it is that the humans learned something so useful from another species.

About the time the men below decide to stop eating the coffee berries outright and instead start to boil them, Castiel starts to laugh with the others.  He shakes his head affectionately at the base humor's effect on the younger angels.  Although he considers himself above such childishness, even Castiel can’t deny that Uriel's jokes were always the best.

**********

As the years drag on, Castiel continues to watch the growth and change of the inhabitants of Earth from afar.  Along with learning quickly from his mistakes and blossoming into a confident, if quiet, leader, Castiel gives his loyalty to his brethren just as freely as he accepts it.  The younger angels look up to him and his elders respect him, though sometimes he feels their respect is given more grudgingly than he might like.

As humanity seems to become more and more bent on destroying one another with technological advances, Castiel grows impatient with the suffocating sameness of his orders.  Surely, if he were on Earth with his garrison, he could make people understand that all their wars weren’t actually solving anything and that they just kept repeating the same actions over and over again with no hope of a different outcome.

He is pleased, then, to find Michael waiting for him upon his return from a quick trip into the Garden to chat with Joshua.  Although surely all the angels are aware that Castiel is no longer in the dark about God’s departure from Heaven, Joshua is still the only of his siblings who will talk to him about it.  As Castiel takes a seat beside his eldest brother, he is greeted with a warm smile.  Never one for small talk, Michael launches straight into the purpose of his visit.

“Things are changing quickly, falling into place just the way Father planned and soon we will need you.  Are you ready, Castiel?”

His grace hums with energy.  For decades now – centuries perhaps – Castiel has sat at his outpost on the top of the world, an obedient soldier feeling as though he’d been forgotten in the shuffle of Heaven’s angels.  He’d begun to think that perhaps his great orders would never come, perhaps he was destined to sit and watch humanity until they finally managed to completely destroy themselves.  With a nervous twitch of his fiery wings, Castiel turns to Michael, giving his full attention.

“I am ready.  What are my orders?”

“For now, you will continue to wait,” comes the gentle answer.  When the confusion Castiel feels turns to a hum of impatience, Michael gives him a patient smile.  “Tomorrow is your day and, lo, a child will be born in the middle of the North American continent who will be incalculably important to Heaven’s cause.  He will have a brother in the blink of an eye and together, they will help us fulfill Father’s plan for the Earth.  They are the descendants of Cain and Abel.”

Castiel’s enthusiasm dampens at the mention of the first feuding brothers. 

“Don’t fret.  These brothers will go to the ends of creation out of love and loyalty to one another.. that much is written in the stars.  The older child is your only concern; I will assign another to watch over the younger brother.  You must safeguard the boy until his appointed hour, though you _mustn’t_ interfere any more than is strictly necessary.  Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“His life won’t be easy.  And I know your love for mankind will push you to step in on his behalf and make it easier, but if you interfere, you will risk ruining all Father’s plans.  This is the beginning of what you were born to do, Castiel, Angel of Thursday.  Your _only_ mission until you receive further orders from me is to ensure his continued existence.  Are you certain you understand your duty?”

“Yes, Michael, I understand.”

Castiel tries to keep himself impassive, his form a continuous feedback loop of excited energy as Michael studies him.  Apparently satisfied with his little brother’s continued willingness to follow his orders, Michael rises and casts a last long look over the world below.  When he returns his gaze to Castiel, he smiles again, seemingly anticipating the question the seraph is planning to ask.

“They will call the boy Dean Winchester.”

***

Though January 24, 1979 dawns as a frigid and unpromising day in Kansas, the angels in Castiel’s garrison are buzzing with excitement.  True to Michael’s word, in the early afternoon the sun breaks through the clouds to glare off the fresh snow and a child is born.  Dean Winchester comes into the world screaming his fury to anyone who will listen, his thin arms and legs flailing in helpless indignation against the manhandling of the doctor. 

And although he has been present for billions of human births – all of them; in fact – Castiel instantly knows that this child _is_ different, destined for great things indeed.  The boy’s father beams with pride as he congratulates his wife and new son on a job well done.  The boy’s mother cries when he is laid into her arms for the first time and Castiel feels a surge of adoration mixed with knowing pride when she gathers up the tiny, screaming creature and coos against his cheek.

“Shhh.. I know, baby.  I know the world is a scary place, but you don’t have to be afraid of it.  Shh, honey.  Shhhh.  It’s okay, Dean.  Angels are watching over you.”

The child stops crying at the sound of Mary’s voice and settles in, bundled and safe, for his first nap.

***

As Dean grows, Castiel follows the spirit of Michael’s law if not the letter.  It’s certainly _possible_ the seraph has a hand in the occasional extra serving of pie or pushed back bedtime, or in keeping the rain at bay so a trip to the park isn’t cut short, but it isn’t as though he’s interfering in any _meaningful_ way.

For the first time in centuries, Castiel feels as though he has a real purpose and he’s not about to let that go to waste.  He dispatches members of his garrison on a seemingly never-ending string of missions to dispatch demons and anything else that threatens a four state radius of Kansas.  He hasn’t _forgotten_ about finding his Father or absent brothers; those things just seem to pale in comparison to the joy he gets from making sure the little boy with a growing collection of freckles has ample reason to smile.

Castiel is unworried when Michael visits again to tell him of the impending birth of Dean’s brother.  Remembering what his eldest brother said about the bond of love written in the stars, he feels pleased to be allowed to bear witness to its beginning.  When Michael comes to the real reason for his visit; however, Castiel’s joy short-lived.

“The boys’ mother will be killed by a demon exactly six months from the birth of her second child.”

“What?  No!  I can stop a demon.  My garrison has stopped more than any other!”

“That is why I am here.  You must _not_ stop this demon.”

“But – “

“No.  This..”  Though Michael starts with his most patient voice, Castiel can sense the growing annoyance under it.  Even knowing that, he can’t stop himself from arguing.

“I’m not just going to let her _die_.  Dean would be..”

“No!  Listen to me.”  Gone is the patience, replaced by a hard edge that Castiel hasn’t heard in millennia.  “Her death is part of Father’s plan.  If you save her, you will not be disobeying _me_ , you will be defying _Him_.  Would you disobey our Father?”

Castiel’s will to challenge is brought up short by Michael’s words.  He finds himself torn between his wish to protect the boy at all costs and his desire to be an obedient son.  His wings flare in irritation and worry, fire snapping in the air around him.  He wavers, but Michael’s voice penetrates the haze of indecision, once more soft.

“Father ordered it, Castiel.  Therefore, I’ve no choice but to insist you follow that order.”

An unnamable disquiet rolls through Castiel’s grace like nausea and in the end he can only give a curt nod to signal his acquiescence to the command.  That’s enough for Michael who leaves him to his stony silence.

The eagerly anticipated birth of the younger son, Samuel, goes without incident and the family returns to their newly purchased home to begin the next phase of their perfectly ordinary life.  Castiel tries to ignore the growing sense of unease he feels as he watches Dean leap into helping care for his little brother with both feet and Mary dote on both her boys.  His Father..  the Father _he_ remembers wouldn’t order something like this.  Would He?

As the days tick away toward the end of his mother’s life, it’s entirely possible Castiel makes sure Dean gets pie _every_ time he asks, gets every extra bedtime story he wants, and always stays awake to the end of his mother singing _“Hey, Jude”_ because it makes him sleep better.  And if his t-ball team goes undefeated against impossible odds?  Well, that’s probably just good luck and favorable winds.

When night falls on the end of Samuel’s sixth month, Castiel turns a blind eye to Kansas, sorrow washing over him like a stinging rain.  Even when he is alerted by Samandiriel then Inias then Anna to the goings on, he orders them to stay away and allow the demon to do as he will.  Anna’s look of horrified disbelief is as sharp as any blade, but he stands firm in his obedience to Michael’s command. 

When the wail of sirens and children finally quiets, Castiel feels queasy and shaken to his core.  Anna howls and threatens and pleads with him until he gives in and tells her of the garrison’s orders, and he can’t help being a little sorry for the whirlwind he’s sent spinning in Michael’s direction.  Castiel has just begun to collect himself when Dean’s tearful question to his father hits like a well-aimed weapon.

“Where are the angels, daddy?”

***

“I’m going to Earth, Castiel.”

Anna’s quiet words come as no surprise to him.  Castiel knows she rebelled in the wake of Mary Winchester’s death and that Michael has ordered her to submit to reassignment or be killed.  That knowledge doesn’t stop the pang of betrayal he feels when he studies her glowing form.

“Michael will find you.”

“Not if I tear out my grace.”

“Anna.. you can’t.  You can’t do that.  You won’t be an angel anymore.”

Her smile is sad as she wraps two of her flaming wings closer to her brilliantly white body.

“I won’t be a puppet anymore, you mean.  I don’t trust Michael.  I don’t think he’s following Father’s plan at all.  I have no proof, but..”  There’s an undertone in her voice of pleading her case.  An unspoken question to her favorite brother to hear her out and understand.  He ignores it.

“Leave.  Now.  I will _not_ sit here and listen to you cast aspersions on our brother.”  Castiel’s voice is hard; his grace closed off from the probing his sister’s.  The thought crosses his mind that if he can quiet others misgivings about recent orders, perhaps he can stop his own.

“I love you, Castiel.”  A moment’s silence passes.  He refuses to look at Anna until she finally gives up and disappears.  The same disquiet from before Sam’s birth rolls through Castiel as he sees Anna and her grace fall separately to the Earth below him, her shrieks of agony echoing in his ears.

Anna’s cries and a twisting sense of shame burning his grace like a wildfire are what send Castiel in search of Michael.

***

He finds his brother alone in the throne room.  The archangel’s shadowy figure is stark, out of place in the blinding white purity of the space.  Castiel waits to be acknowledged, watching as Michael sits, lost in thought, his wings flipping impatiently to accompany occasional growls.

“What is it, Castiel?”

Castiel feels fear build for the first time in years, dusting itself off and making itself at home somewhere in the middle of him, choking his voice with its certainty that Michael could kill him where he stands without a hint of remorse.  Their ruthlessness makes archangels Heaven’s most terrifying weapon even to their brothers and sisters.  Fear or no, Castiel knows he has to take his stand in this moment or not at all.

“I want to know the plan.”

“The plan?  For your human pet?  You already know it.”

“The _whole_ plan.  Why is he so important?”

Michael rises from his seat and approaches slowly, a terrible smile spreading across the shadows of his face.  The size difference in Castiel’s favor is no consolation; he feels like prey being circled by a much more capable predator.  He steels himself and pushes on.

“Tell me what is _really_ going on, Michael.”

Michael’s face is a mere inch from Castiel’s when he answers, his tone as dark as the shifting shadows that make up his form.

“You know _everything_ you need to know.”

Castiel doesn’t back away.  He holds himself in formal stiffness as he studies Michael for any hint of a crack in the façade, any way into his head.  Anna was right.  This is not their beloved brother.  This is something their Father never intended.  Castiel shakes his head bitterly.

“I will find out, Michael.  And when I do – “

***

Castiel opens his eyes to the warm sunshine the Garden of Eden.  Two bees hover, wings beating in unison, a foot away from his face.  He doesn’t remember coming to the garden or stretching out on the grass, but he can’t shake the feeling this isn’t the first time he’s ended up here without remembering why.  He watches as the bees buzz happily in concentric circles, losing himself in the intricacies of their dance.  Even with the passing of thousands of years, this remains the one language in all creation that he doesn’t speak fluently.

A shadow crosses Castiel’s face as someone leans over him, and the bees fly off to continue their conversation away from this new interloper.  Joshua’s always-welcoming voice washes over him.

“I see you’ve come to watch the bees again, Castiel.”

“I have, though..  I don’t remember coming here again.” Castiel answers, feeling wrongness flow through his body as he sits up and folds his flaming wings in tight.  “I’m afraid something is going on.  But, it’s just out of my grasp, Joshua.  It’s something I should remember, something important..  and I never can remember.” 

His brother’s face is guarded and that doesn’t do anything to ease the discomfort that’s found its way to Castiel’s grace and wrapped around like a fist.  Joshua blinks away his obvious discomfort and smiles at Castiel; the warm and affectionate smile he’s come to expect.

“I never notice you come in, brother.  I’m busy tending the flowers and trees and the next thing I know, I nearly trip over you lying in the grass.  Not that I’m complaining, mind you.  I always enjoy your visits.”

Castiel stretches his six wings, one at a time, as he thinks and he tries to ignore the ache that’s starting in his head.  No matter how many headaches he finds himself with, he’ll never get used to them.  Angels aren’t supposed to have aches and pains. 

“I hate to cut your bee gazing short, but Michael has asked for anyone who sees you to send you to the throne room and there’s much excitement all over Heaven.  I think something big is about to happen.”

A non-specific dread settles around Castiel like a mantle and he nods as he gets to his feet, towering over Joshua.  He smiles and thanks his brother for passing along the message, then turns to head out the gate for the throne room, unable to shake the feeling he was _just_ there.  As he departs, Joshua calls out behind him, “Be careful out there, Castiel.”


	3. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is chosen to retrieve Dean's soul and fights his way into hell to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains all the graphic and sexual violence. Hell's a nasty place full of nasty people. Vivid descriptions of torture and not-so-vivid descriptions of burnt wings.
> 
> [Map of Hell](http://24.media.tumblr.com/c2f418cffad1193629b92ca61f7228b6/tumblr_mpryatFItf1rjd5cxo1_1280.png) \- it's very simple, but it should give you a good idea of how Hell is arranged in this story. My Hell is a simplified version of Dante Alighieri's Hell in _The Inferno_. I moved people around, simplified rings, and made up my own punishments while incorporating Supernatural canon where I could. Also, I have no idea if Inias accompanied Castiel, but in this story he did.

When Castiel enters the throne room, he finds Michael seated on the throne.  Flanking him on the black marble bench that stretches out to his left are Uriel and Raphael; to his right is Naomi.  They speak in hushed tones as he makes himself known – until Michael silences everyone with a hiss – and they all turn smiles to Castiel.

“Rejoice, for your moment has arrived!  You will be the savior of the Righteous Man!”  Michael rises as he speaks and makes his way slowly down the black marble stairs to where Castiel stands.  The others remain seated on high as Michael approaches, his broad grin giving away nothing.

“There’s been a little change in the plan, Castiel.  Your charge has managed to find himself dragged into hell, and it is _your_ mission to bring his soul back out again and repair him so that Father’s plan can continue.”

“Dean Winchester?  He’s only a child!  How could he have..”

Raphael’s nasty laughter rings through the hallowed hall, sharp and bright and filling Castiel with a strange mix of fear and annoyance.  There is no rustle to his movement, no sound except his laughter, but almost immediately he is standing beside Michael.  Raphael’s eyes are cold, and his tone is malicious.

“While you neglected your post, your precious pet human grew up and made a deal with demons to resurrect his beloved brother.  Sainted Castiel, what a protector _you_ are.  The boy you professed to care so much about has rotted in the ground while you’ve traipsed all over Heaven and ignored him.”

“I didn’t!”

Castiel’s mind is awhirl, working over the possibilities for how this could have happened.  He only left his station for a moment to..  to..  he can’t remember.  The Winchester boys were born, then Anna left for some reason – he’s not clear on that, either – and then.. 

...then Castiel opened his eyes, staring at the sun in the Garden.  Fury races over itself through Castiel’s body until his wings are quivering, fire crackling in the air like electricity, and he feels on the verge of losing his form.  It’s Uriel’s reasonable voice that brings him back from the edge.

“Ignore Raphael.  He’s only jealous that Father chose you for this task.”  Uriel’s smile is sickly sweet, almost patronizing.  “We haven’t time to squabble among ourselves, Castiel.  You _must_ get to Dean Winchester before Alastair turns his heart.”

“Before – “ Castiel starts, more confused than ever; but he’s cut off again by Naomi, who has joined her brothers to form a semi-circle in front of Castiel.  They all watch him with fixed stares as she speaks.

“You will find him in the inner ring of the Seventh Circle.  Be vigilant in watching for Alastair, brother.  He is a master of torture and if he ever got his hands on an angel?”

She leaves the vague threat hanging in the air, heavy and worrisome, and Castiel nods and takes a step back.  It’s all moving too fast and he needs time to plan an attack if he’s going to make it to the Seventh Circle.  Violence, he thinks.  How did the smiling, freckled little boy he watched over – the boy who _believed_ angels watched over him – end up in the pit of blasphemers?

“No angel has ever gone to Hell and come back, though, right?  What makes you think I will be able to rescue his soul?  How will I know when I find him?  I’ve not seen him since he was a child.”

Castiel is thinking aloud, still trying to collect himself when Michael steps toward him again.  Just as Castiel has come to expect, Michael ignores his questions and gives orders.

“You will know him by the crest hanging from his neck: a gold amulet on a string that bears no marks of name or rank.  Once you cross into the First Circle, we will not be able to help you.  Take only the best of your garrison and I will send the best foot soldiers I have to accompany you.  Keep your force small or you risk becoming scattered and failing your mission.  You will lose soldiers, Castiel, but you can’t stop to worry about them.  The only thing you need to concern yourself with is getting Dean Winchester out of hell.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Michael, I understand.”

Castiel’s grace is humming fitfully, a hot glow in the center of his chest to match the flaring fire on his wings.  He’s spoiling for a fight to save the human he’s invested so much in, the human he was born to protect, the human he obviously failed.  If it costs Castiel his life, Dean Winchester will know that angels _are_ watching over him.  Castiel turns, nearly running into Hester on his way out.  He’s too busy organizing a plan in his head to question her sudden appearance as he returns to his post to gather the strongest fighters in his garrison.

***

When he’s finished putting together his brigade with the addition of Michael’s foot soldiers, Castiel stands before the assembled mass of angels in the Vestibule of Hell.  He knows most of them, if only in passing.  He looks over their faces, one by one, taking a long moment to offer his silent thanks for their presence.

“No angel of our generation has been to Hell,” he begins.  “We are familiar with the Ten Circled structure, but specific conditions of each Circle have remained outside our knowledge.  We know that Dean Winchester is in the Seventh Circle with other perpetrators of violence.”  Castiel’s voice trembles on the last word; he still hasn’t reconciled how the boy he knew from birth could become the man who would end up in _any_ Circle of Hell. 

“He is personally guarded by the demon Alastair, who has certain unknown plans for him – which is why we must make haste.  And we will know him by the bronze pagan crest around his neck.  We have no further intelligence on his whereabouts or what we will be facing.  As you well know, without a detailed layout, a detailed plan is difficult to form.  That leaves more to chance than I like, but I have the utmost faith in our mission and in you.”

He pauses, watches the faces upturned to him.  The trust he sees shining out from his brethren tugs at his conscience, but he smiles reassuringly and pushes on.

“We will attack straight into the first ring, forming a “V” with its point – and me – going in last.  The demons won’t be able to outflank us in that formation.  We must make our way as quickly as we can to Dean Winchester’s soul.  Whoever finds him will alert me immediately, and together we will remove him.”

He pauses again, sees the trepidation entering some of the faces, feels the tug on his conscience grow as he weighs the merits of being truthful with the merits of letting his soldiers believe there is a better than average chance they will make it through this alive.  He simply can’t bring himself to lie to his brothers and sisters at a time like this.

“The Hell Winds blow out from the center so strongly that we will have to stay on the ground to get in.  Once we have the soul, we can fly back out.  There will be casualties.  I can’t guarantee safety to any of you.  If you choose not to follow me into this battle, I will lose no respect for you.  The offer stands to Michael’s soldiers as well.  If you would like to return to Heaven now, I will take the blame.”

When Castiel falls silent again, he watches a few of the angels waver, obviously considering his offer.  He gives them a long moment to make up their minds, but then one by one he sees stony resolve return to each face.  They each nod to him, once and sharply as though in salute.  He returns their nod and turns toward the outer edge of Hell.

When his force has finished arraying itself in the specified formation, Castiel gives a terrible battle cry that sends a visible shiver down the lines of angels as he leads his brigade into hell to retrieve Dean Winchester’s soul.

***

Hell is not what Castiel expected.  Instead of the pitched flames and screaming souls he was certain he would see there is nothingness.  Expanses as far as the eye can see of dull gray ground, with dull gray rocks and a dull gray sky.  The sinners look upon the angels with their dull gray eyes and Castiel sees hope spark there, then fizzle away to the same dull gray.

“Who are you?  Are you angels?”  They ask.  “Are you come to save us?  Has God taken mercy on our souls?  We’ve done no wrong, only lapsed in our faith.  Please, take mercy on us.”

Castiel can feel the tug on his grace, a cold buzz of nothingness as he and his troops push through the hoards of atheists and lapsed believers, but he knows he can’t stop to fight with or save these hopeless, roaming souls.  They mean him no harm, but the way they tug at the edges of him and those he leads will slow them down if he allows it.  He lifts his head and calls out to his troops.

“Put your blades away and save your energy.  These souls will cause us no harm!”

 The garrison trudges across acre after acre of dull gray with no end in sight and Castiel can see it wearing on his followers, their once shining, shifting forms dulling slowly to the same gray as the surroundings.  Every now and again a demon rears its ugly head, but they are few and far between, and they come to the slaughter so willingly that Castiel can’t help think that they, too, must be here as punishment. 

**

It is with great anticipation that the angels greet the line that sharply demarcates the Second Circle of Hell.  When Castiel pushes through, he shakes off the grayness that wreaths his fiery wings and surveys the new surroundings.  Everywhere he looks, for as far as the eye can see, there are bodies pushed together with cries of pleasure and pain.  He’s taken aback by the partners and threesomes; the foursomes and orgies taking place on every available surface.

He watches, transfixed, as the soul of a woman rides atop the prone soul of a man who pulls her down by her hips with such force that she’s slowly torn in half to her belly.  Her head is thrown back as she cries in ecstasy, seemingly unaware of her intestines spilling out on her grinning partner.  Castiel shakes his head to clear the vision and pushes forward, sidestepping three souls who are writhing together on the warm ground.  Revulsion at the open sexual displays rockets through him and it is not until he hears a scream he recognizes as one of his garrison that he understands the danger to his kind in this place.

Castiel stares in growing horror as screams of “Fresh meat!” and chants of “Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him!” ring through the sizzling air and another angel is dragged to the ground amid thrashing souls.  The soldier screaming for mercy as they tear him apart slowly, trying to figure out how to have sex with him.  Demons cackle with glee, and the air burns hotter and hotter as Castiel pushes on, calling out to his garrison to keep moving no matter what, to not stop for those dragged under.

Suddenly, there’s a soul standing in his path, engulfed in flame, and burning slowly.  Through the cries of agony, he hears a voice.

“Are you come to save the sinners consumed by lust?  Love is all we seek, but love is never found.”  The man’s soul gestures grandly with a sweeping arm aflame as he continues in a sing-song voice beneath the shrieks.  “Consumed by lust on Earth, in the pit of Hell we are consumed by an unquenchable desire for true love.  If we would change our circumstances, we will burn to nothing, reborn like a Phoenix to start again.”

Castiel has his blade out, ready to use it on the soul blocking his way.  Before he has a chance, the flaming limbs disintegrate before his very eyes to a pile of ashes.  From the pile of ashes springs the man’s soul once again in bodily form, fresh and new and quickly pulled to the ground by another soul.  With the wail of horror ringing in his head, Castiel puts his head down and moves forward again.

Quickly they move between the copulating souls, seeing them bite chunks from the flesh of their partners, tear one another apart in their ecstasy, then burn to ashes and spring up again to dive straight back into the fray.  Castiel exchanges glances with another angel, sees the absolute terror on his face, and feels it reflected on his own.  He hears the cries of three more of his soldiers, bringing their numbers below twenty.  But, still they march on, deeper and deeper into the Second Circle of hell until they hear the sizzle and pop of ice falling into fire. 

**

Ice pellets falling from the sky mark the angels’ entry to the Third Circle of Hell.  The stench of decaying flesh is overwhelming, and the pop of ice hitting the wings of the seraphs draws unwanted attention.  From all directions, souls who are shackled, hunched in their places on the slushy ground look their way.  Some of the souls are filling their mouths with chunks of rotten, blackened bread.

The one thing all the souls have in common is green-tinged flesh falling away from their blackened muscles, and blackened muscle falling away from ashy gray bones.  They rattle their shackles as they try to move toward the angels, though their efforts are in vain.  They are trapped with their feet mired in the slushy ground, and their hands will reach no further than their own mouths.

Castiel shudders as he takes in the sight of emaciated souls cramming the soggy, worm-infested bread into their mouths as quickly as they can from their constantly replenishing piles.  Although they eat, they seem to gain no fulfillment from it.  When he brushes too close to the souls huddled to the ground in the freezing rain, he feels their bony hands grabbing at the edge of his bodily form and pulling him in different directions.

One soul manages a firm grip on his arm and refuses to let go, so Castiel looks down.  There are maggots crawling through the skin of the woman’s face, pushing the skin right off her face to land on the ground at his feet with a sickening squelch.  He stares at her, stomach rolling as the stench from her rotting body reaches him.

“Are you come to save the gluttons?” A strip of black flesh falls off her arm, leaving bone to accumulate the falling ice.  Her pleading, blue-eyed stare goes right through Castiel when the muscles start to slough off her face, leaving her unable to speak further.

“I am not your savior.”  The words taste filthy in his mouth, callous on top of the cruelty she already suffers.  She doesn’t seem to notice however, as muscles fall away faster in the icy downpour, leaving her bones to turn to dust and mix with the maggoty, writhing slush on the ground until she is formed anew and back into her shackles, plump and pink and ready to be poisoned again.

Castiel pushes forward, shaking off the hands that grab at him, running his blade easily through the few demons who venture into his path.  He is filled with overwhelming, vindictive satisfaction with each one he dispatches.  It won’t help the plight of the souls stuck here; of course, but it relieves some of the helplessness he feels.  The Fourth Circle bleeds into the Fifth with no real line of separation.

The unholy odor clings to Castiel as before his eyes, the emaciated, rotting souls give way to souls who are pulling possessions along behind them.  It seems that nothing is exempt from being lugged across the rocky ground.  Some souls have large sacks full of goods, while others drag cars, and mansions by chains fed through their skin and around their spines.  Each soul looks at every other enviously, unable to hide their covetous stares at goods that aren’t their own.

“Are you come to save the greedy?” A voice rings out from beneath a great pile of gold and jewels.  “Or perhaps you’ve come to donate those beautiful wings.  How lovely they would look gilded and mounted as trophies.”

Castiel shares a look of disgust with one of his soldiers, and they press on past the growing jam of possessions caught against possessions in a tectonic plate-like lock and slip.  This ring is blessedly narrow and as they approach the demarcation of the next Circle, Castiel gathers the troops he has left for a headcount.  There are sixteen of them left, including himself.

Although Castiel tries to keep his worry concealed, he can’t help the nervous twitch of his blade against thin air.  Michael’s meager instructions were that the Fifth Circle would be where he should expect heavy casualties.  The angels form a circle, facing outward to watch for demons, as they take the time to regroup.  Castiel gives last minute instructions and then they reform their “V” and with blades swinging, they drive into the next Circle.

**

The step into the Fifth Circle of Hell is marked by the reverberating _clang_ of Castiel’s blade against a demon’s flame-edged sword.  Castiel feels himself pushed back, almost tipping into the previous Circle before he surges forward.  Blow after blow lands on his blade as the demon swings with precision.  The landing of metal on metal rattles Castiel’s body and his nerves and he finds himself breathless and scared for the first time.  _This_ is what he imagined storming Hell would be like.

“Have you come to save them from their anger, oh great angel?” The demon’s words are a nasty hiss as he looks Castiel up and down doubtfully, then charges again, swinging his sword toward Castiel’s body.

The flames that leap up from the ground singe Castiel’s form, burning his edges until they’re blackened and cracking and feeding the flames on his wings.  He feels the lowermost pair burning up in the flames, but he can’t pull away from the life-or-death battle he’s locked in to do anything about it.  All he can do is swing and swing again until he finally gets the upper hand and lops off the demon’s head.  Blood spurts from the stump, covering Castiel as he tries to reorganize his thoughts.

He kicks the head savagely away and raises his wings, the lowest pair throbbing with the pain of the fire.  He dares not look at the damage, instead casting wild glances around as he hears screams from his garrison.  When he takes in the enormity of the scene before him, hopelessness roils through him.

All around are souls locked in mortal combat, tearing one another apart with weapons and their bare hands.  The animalistic rage that fills the air leaves a terrible impression on Castiel’s grace, fury rising in his own chest as he meets another oncoming demon with a sidestep and a swing back to shove his blade as far as he can into its back.  Castiel turns then, and with a grunt of satisfaction, he yanks the blade slowly upward, splitting the shrieking demon in half from mid-chest to the top of its head.

Blood and brains ooze out, reeking of sulfur, before Castiel pushes the still-standing body over.  He turns again and tries to get his bearings and recall which direction he was traveling in until he finds himself mesmerized, and watching the boiled-over rage of a man tearing off another man’s head and bashing the skull onto the ground, bits of brain, and shards of bone exploding everywhere.  The man screams in triumph.  His glory is short-lived as another soul is pushed forward to replace the last, and they are locked once more in combat, up to their ankles in the entrails of the body he just finished with.

Castiel ignores the screams of his companions as they come one by one, the blood-curdling terror that hits him just before the sickening snap of bodies breaking and the wails of angels being torn asunder in this terrible place.  He wants to go back, wants to save as many as he can, but he can feel their numbers dwindling and he knows _he_ can’t risk being caught.

He trudges on, trying to ignore the souls tearing at one another, the sounds of bones snapping and guts spilling.  He can’t help watch the battered and bloody body parts falling at his feet, feel the pain that moves through his wings and into his grace.  He can see the line of the Sixth Circle, can taste the sweet freedom of being anywhere that isn’t knee-deep in the blood of screaming souls.  That’s when he feels a blade sink into his side, feels himself being pushed over by two wailing demons who jump on him and wrestle him to the ground, terrifying screams coming from their wide-open mouths.

Castiel howls with rage and swings his blade at the nearest, landing a lucky blow to cut off his head.  The demon’s blade sticks out from his side, driven deeper as he rolls across the muddy ground with the remaining demon.  Its hands are around his throat, squeezing as though that will do anything; but he can feel his grace leaking out through the wound in his side.  It forms a matrix over the tear and tries to repair itself.  His wings are first singed, then on fire, and he howls again – this time in pain.  With a last burst of energy, he flings the demon off his body.  He hears it scream when it lands, but he doesn’t dare look.

He pulls the blade out of his side and gathers up his own.  He’s so close now, so close to the Sixth Circle.  With a blade in each hand, he crawls the remaining distance, his body ready to give out as it uses all available energy to heal the gaping, grace-leaking rip in his side.  He feels one of his garrison beside him, and it soothes him, gives him the courage to pass through the veil.

**

Castiel collapses to the chalky ground when he makes it through to the Sixth Circle, staring up at Inias, who looks worried.

“You’re injured, Castiel.  Let me see it.”

He doesn’t argue as Inias bends down to look at his side, run gentle fingers along his burned wings in the process.  The pain is almost overwhelming, and Castiel bites back a scream.  Inias looks more worried when he presses his hands over the wound in Castiel’s side, looking around before focuses his attention on it fully.

“I can’t heal you.  Not all the way.  But I can help.”

Castiel is grateful for the help, but as soon as Inias pulls his hands away, he struggles to his feet.  He forces the pain out of his mind, looking around to see only four others.  Eleven of his garrison were lost in the fiery pit of anger and wrath.  He sweeps his gaze further to find that the souls here are trapped inside rings of fire they can’t escape; rings of fire that burn closer and closer to the trapped soul until it catches fire and burns to death.  Castiel watches numbly as they spring back to life with the fire at its starting point and the cycle begins again.  He’s glad these soul’s throats are permanently cut rendering their screams silent, then ashamed he’s glad for anything.

He looks back at his men, all singed and bloodied and weary.

“We will rest here,” he tells them, “until we are able to continue on.  Five of us are left and the Seventh Circle would be a trial for five hundred.”

He expects an argument from Inias, if no one else, but he gets none.  Castiel stands watch, his troops resting their weary heads on the red clay pillows they form from the ground.  Angels don’t need sleep; of course, but being inert helps the mending go faster.  While he watches for demons, he takes the time to survey the damage to his wings. 

The normally white-feathered, flame-edged appendages are seared to dusty black, though still edged with erratic flames.  The third pair is darkest and shrunken, having taken the most damage.  They still throb with every movement no matter how he tries not to notice.  The second pair fared slightly better, ragged on the lower edges from flames, but mostly intact.  Probably still capable of flight.  The first pair, the uppermost and largest, is singed black, and sore as can be, but almost definitely airworthy. 

He flaps all three pairs gingerly, then again harder to lift himself off the ground.  It hurts, but they’re still serviceable.  He feels certain that they will be able to carry him out of this place with the help of the Hell Winds.  Assuming he makes it out of this place in one piece.

When the angels at his feet start to stir again, he calls them once more to arms.  Inias tries to persuade Castiel to take his turn to rest, but he refuses.  Standing still while the others rested was all he required, and they don’t have time to waste.  The wound in his side is barely oozing grace and he’s got an appointment with Dean Winchester’s soul, so after revising the battle plan to ‘cover as much ground as you can as fast as you can, try not to get killed, and let’s get him out of there’, they move forward with a renewed sense of purpose.

The thing about the Sixth Circle, filled with heretics and Popes and false prophets, is that it’s easy enough to stay out of harms way.  The ragtag group of angels picks their way carefully between the rings of fire, eyes ahead as they ignore the silent screams and the smell of burning flesh.  It doesn’t take long to reach the edge of the Seventh Circle, though Castiel instantly sees the problem facing his garrison.

**

The ground the angels have trodden thus far, drops off into a sheer cliff.  There is nothing but dark, swirling shadows and over those shadows, suspended by chains, and cables are individual souls.  At each station is a small plot of land where the soul’s torturer stands with a table of implements.  To get from one plot to another; the angels will have to fly.  They exchange nervous glances between themselves before Castiel gives a reassuring nod and motions for everyone to take off.  A searing pain shoots through his wings when he takes flight, sliding down his body, and leaving him in shock.  He flies to the nearest plot and when he doesn’t recognize the soul chained there, he flies on.

The pain in Castiel’s wings increases every time he takes to the air again, clouding his mind and making his head throb sympathetically.  He hears one of his garrison scream in agony and then another mere moments later as he continues the painstaking search for the soul of the Righteous Man.  Castiel can feel his strength waning as he searches each small plot of land, souls ripping at his body and wings trying to get him to take them away from their pain.  He pushes their hands away, his resolve steeled by previous Circles, and moves on each time without a word.

He notices Alastair before he sees anything else on the plot.  He is hunched over something on the ground, looking around furtively.  Castiel hovers as he tries to figure out how best to get by Alastair when one of the remaining angelic soldiers swoops in on blackened wings and knocks the demon into the swirling shadows that spiral deeper into the pit of Hell.  Castiel cries out as the angel tumbles after Alastair with a panicked scream.  The terrible noise of souls crying out reaches a fevered pitch with the sudden departure of the Circle’s overseer.

Castiel descends on the plot of land and turns his attention immediately to the chained soul.  It is a woman, and there is no bronze amulet, nothing but a bright red and gold crest with a serpent on it hangs around her neck.  He’s still staring in confusion when a hand brushes past him as though he’s not even there and grabs a loosened piece of skin on the woman’s upper arm.  The other hand, bearing a straight razor, is raised to cut off a thin strip as the tortured woman screams and shakes the chains and begs for Castiel’s help.

Castiel must have landed in the wrong place somehow and as he’s turning to leave for the next plot of land, the torturer comes into stark relief against the swirling brown background.  Vivid green eyes fixed on the task at hand are the first thing Castiel sees, followed by a constellation of freckles he knows all too well decorating a face drawn into a malicious stare.  He nearly doubles over with nausea when his gaze travels down to see the bronze Pagan amulet hanging around the man’s neck.

“Are you Dean Winchester?”

The man ignores him, quickly cutting a strip off the woman’s thigh, drawing another wail of agony.  With practiced ease and no spark of life in his eyes, Dean moves to the other thigh, then the other upper arm in quick succession.  As the tortured’s cries reach a fevered pitch and she writhes in agony; a cruel smile crosses the man’s beautiful face.

“Why did you stop screaming, bitch?  It’s no fun if you don’t scream.  SCREAM!”  Dean’s command is punctuated by a slash of the razor to remove a thick slice from her stomach, baring her internal organs.  The woman’s terrified screams ring out and Dean’s smile spreads as he leans in closer, licks at blood on the woman’s skinned face and growl, “Want me to stop hurting you?  I’ll let you up if you’ll join the team.  You’ll like it if you give it a chance.”

Castiel feels as though the world’s been yanked from under his feet as he takes in what the _Righteous Man_ has become.  He reaches down and forces Dean away from the woman’s soul, his wings flaring angrily.  As though finally realizing Castiel is there, those green eyes widen as they travel up his burned and blood drenched form.  Dean’s mouth drops open, and he cringes away, dropping the straight razor as he crumbles to the ground.  He covers his head with raw and bloody hands as a sob breaks from his throat.

“I was doing what I’m supposed to!  What are you?  Did Alastair send you?  Please,” Dean pleads with Castiel, his voice desperate and hoarse, “please don’t hurt me any more.  I’m doing it.  I’m trying to turn her heart.  I’m trying, I’m..”

Dean’s soul cowers at Castiel’s feet and shivering as though awaiting a beating.  Castiel is shamed to his core that he allowed this to happen, that he abandoned his duty and didn’t protect the little boy who grew into this monster.  He wants to take the time to explain, to calm Dean and calm himself, but he hears Inias calling out from above.

“Have you found him, Castiel?”

“Yes!  He’s here!”

“Grab him, we have to go.  The demons caught our scent and they’re coming with reinforcements.  Apparently, _everyone_ wants your pet human!”

Castiel looks back down at the trembling lump at his feet and makes a quick decision.  He grabs Dean by the shoulder; fingers fusing to the soul so he won’t lose him in flight.  Dean cries out in pain and alarm, begging in a steady stream for mercy or his life or the finality of true death.  Castiel ignores the cries and hoists himself and Dean into the air on wearied wings to follow Inias to solid ground. 

As they swoop and dodge through the chains and cables, Castiel sees more and more demons crawl out, feels their filthy fingers grabbing for him and occasionally getting hold of Dean’s soul and tugging.  He holds tight, secure in the knowledge that nothing can break the bond between them.  As the edge of the cliff comes into view, a demon jumps from a cable and wraps its arms around Dean who screams as it tries to pry him away from Castiel.  Castiel swoops low at the cliff’s edge and scrapes the screeching demon off, leaving him to fall into the pit below.

The trio doesn’t land when they reach the ledge between the Fifth and Sixth Circles.  Instead, Castiel feels the hot Hell Wind blowing out from Lucifer’s cage catch his wings and carry him forward.  It’s a relief, taking some of the strain off Castiel’s exhausted body and burnt wings; but the way Dean flails and struggles like a fish on a line threatens to send them both crashing to earth.

“Stop _fighting_ me, Dean,” Castiel hisses.  “I came to save you.”

“What the fuck are you?  Let me go!” Dean growls.  “Alastair – “

“Alastair is no longer your concern.  Be still or we’re going to fall!”

Dean twists and fights, reaching up to try to pull Castiel’s hand off his shoulder although it would send him falling to his death.  Castiel grips him tighter, fusing his hand to the skin with his grace itself as they follow Inias over Circle after Circle of suffering souls.  This time, Castiel has no trouble ignoring their pleading.  When the angels and their precious cargo finally break through from the First Circle back into the barren Vestibule, Castiel gives a cry of victory.

“DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED!”

*****

A soul cannot keep its form outside a body unless it is in Heaven or Hell, which is rarely a problem since souls are rarely needed in any other place.  Safe in the Vestibule of Hell, Dean’s soul is transformed from the form of a man into a thin; glowing white sheet bonded to Castiel’s hand.  When Inias lands, Castiel follows close behind, cradling the humming mass of Dean’s soul to his chest.  Inias looks as triumphant as Castiel feels and they exchanged tight nods of a job well done.

“What now?” Inias asks, studying Dean’s soul carefully.

“Now, I put him back together,” Castiel answers, his own eyes dropping to the soul.  It’s torn in places, skinned in others, looking much worse for the wear.  Nothing he can’t fix.  He hopes.  He only wishes he’d had time to tell Dean who he was and why he was there.  Or to apologize for not being there when he should have been.  He looks back up, “Then I will put his soul back in his body and he will be resurrected to do Father’s bidding.”

“Do you need me for anything else, Castiel?”

Inias’ face is drawn; exhaustion etched on his glowing features.  He stretches out his wings and looks up at Castiel who can’t help trying to soothe Dean’s soul by stroking it as he would a frightened animal.

“Go tell Michael we’ve returned, you and I.  With Dean Winchester’s soul.”  He pauses and Inias waits.  “You don’t have to tell him that the Righteous Man already turned.  I will bear that news.”

Inias nods and reaches out to press a gentle hand to Castiel’s shoulder.  “You did well, brother.  We all did.  No one could have asked us for more.”

Castiel grunts his agreement and Inias gives another short nod before he takes off for Heaven.

*****

With Inias gone, Castiel takes a seat on the ground in the Vestibule, his back against a wall.  Though he expects no demons here, one can never be too careful.  He relaxes and closes his eyes to let the fusion between his hand and Dean’s soul unseal.  When it is loose in his hands, he looks down to take stock of its injuries more carefully.

Castiel cringes as he dips his finger into the wound on his side, gathering blue glowing grace like blood on his fingertip.  Beginning with the largest tear in the soul, he uses his grace to paint over the ragged edges then holds them together until they fuse.  It’s painstaking work, the closing of thousands of tears from tiny to gaping, but Castiel is focused wholeheartedly on the task.

Grace weeps from the reopened wound, sapping his energy, but he continues like a seamstress making fine clothing for a king, equal attention paid to every imperfection, no matter how small.  While he works, he talks to Dean’s soul, whispers blessings in Enochain, and sings his favorite hymns.

“You’re destined for great things, Dean Winchester.  You were chosen by Father himself.  I hope I am someday able to meet you again.  Would you like that?”

He chatters on quietly, his wings beginning to slowly mend as he sits in the same place, mending tear after tear.  Castiel can feel the energy from Dean’s soul change slowly as he works; the admixture of soul and grace causing it to reach out for the angel, to take comfort from his gentle touch and quiet words.  In turn, Castiel finds himself soothed by his proximity to Dean’s soul. 

“I hope you don’t remember what you did down there,” he murmurs, stroking lightly over the healing soul.  “It wasn’t your fault.  It was mine.”

When he can find no more tears to mend, he turns his attention to the scrapes and skinned areas, smearing his grace over them and massaging it into the thin membrane of the soul until one by one, those are healed as well.  When he studies the soul again, more carefully, looking for any little thing he might have missed, he comes upon his own handprint.  He scoops up more grace onto his fingertip and starts to rub it into the mark.  To Castiel’s surprise, the handprint glows blood red, leaving behind raised marks where there had been none.

He smiles to himself and traces a fingertip over it, feeling the hum of energy peak under his touch.  He decides to let it be as he struggles to his feet, exhausted but still buzzing with triumph.  It’s not like a soul mark will manifest outside Dean’s body anyway.  Castiel casts a glance back toward the First Circle of Hell, his chest tight with the memory of the soldiers he lost.  Veering wildly between elation and crushing sadness, he takes to wing to return Dean’s soul to his body.

*****

It’s a simple enough task for an angel.  Castiel stands over Dean’s grave outside Pontiac, Illinois, the patchwork soul in his hands, and closes his eyes.  He starts to sing softly, an Enochian blessing chant, his pitch rising as his body grows outward into his true form.  The singing turns to a hum of energy as he expands, tendrils of dust from all over the universe pushing the soul easily through the earth and against Dean’s body.

With a shockwave of energy bursting out from his core, Castiel pushes the soul back to rest behind Dean’s breastbone and wraps it carefully around his heart.  He is vaguely aware of trees falling around him, but he is unbothered, deep in concentration to heal the fragile human form the tendrils of his energy are holding until Dean’s heart starts to beat again.  His task finally finished, Castiel returns to Heaven to face Michael.

***

When Castiel reaches the throne room, his brothers and sisters are waiting for him.  Michael is once more seated on the throne with Uriel and Raphael to his left, and Hester has joined Naomi on his right.

“We already know what you’ve come to tell us, Castiel,” Michael starts, but he’s smiling.  “You and Inias did well.”

Castiel is wary as he looks from one face to the next, seeing smiles on each one.  Michael rises and makes his way down the black marble steps as Castiel sways where he stands from fatigue and his injuries.  He flinches when his brother reaches out to take his hands.  Nothing more is said before a surge of energy flows into his body from Michael, and Castiel can feel his wounds mending.  Michael smiles again and inclines his head.

“Go back to Earth now.  Dean Winchester is your responsibility.  He needs to understand that he was brought out of Hell for a reason and that he is beholden to the angel that saved him.  Father has commanded we use him in the coming war, so we must.”

“In what way?” Castiel’s wariness grows at the thought of having dragged Dean’s soul from hell only to pile more misery on him.

Michael’s smile never falters as he answers, “All you need to know is that your pet human will be well looked after by both you _and_ me.  I will tell you more when the time comes.”

Castiel fights down a response, knowing that arguing will only anger his brother.  He stretches his wings, feeling the fiery edges snap in the air, though from the corner of his eye he can see they’ve retained the blackened coloring.

“Am I to take a vessel, then?” It’s been thousands of years since Castiel took a vessel; it’s something he’d rather not do if he doesn’t have to because even after all this time, he remembers how itchy they are and how little room they have for wings.

“Attempt to speak directly to Dean Winchester, but do what you must.  There is a vessel very near where Dean was buried if you need him.  His name is Jimmy Novak.”

Michael steps back and waves a hand to dismiss Castiel and as he walks away, he can hear the assembled angels speaking in hushed but excited tones.


	4. Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Hell. Castiel tries to talk to Dean, takes Jimmy as his vessel, and finally talks to Dean. The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stayed as close to canon as I could where canon was available. Since this is from Castiel's POV, I had to take a lot of liberties and using my interpretation of his character, decide how he approached things that we've only seen from other people's perspectives on screen.
> 
> Also, obviously, I own none of these characters (though I wouldn't _mind_ having dibs on Castiel) and mean no copyright infringement by using words off the show.

Castiel encounters Dean in an abandoned gas station.  He remains hidden from Dean’s sight, watching as the man gathers food and drinks, then money.  Castiel closes his eyes and sends his greetings to the television over Dean’s head.  He feels the old television spark to life, then feels the unease in Dean’s soul as he quickly reaches up to shut it back off.

Castiel tries the radio next, only to get the same treatment.  He opens his eyes and watches in confusion as Dean starts to spread salt along the store’s entrance as though it would keep him out, watching warily through the glass as he does so.  With a bit of Castiel’s grace living in Dean, surely the man should be able to hear his voice.  Sure, he could understand if Dean couldn’t _look_ at him, but his voice _must_ be familiar.

“Dean?  Dean, can you hear me?”

As glass shatters all around him, Dean falls to the floor clutching his head. 

“It’s me, Castiel.  Do you? –“

Dean leaps to his feet, scrambling like a terrified animal and Castiel feels instantly guilty, deciding not to say anything else.  He can feel Dean’s heart pounding from here, but he can also feel the hum of Dean’s soul, still reaching out to him.  Perhaps the man is still a bit scrambled from being pulled from Hell and doesn’t yet realize he _can_ hear angels if he listens.  Castiel sighs and decides to let Dean be and find his vessel instead.  He hopes he’ll have better luck that way.

***

Castiel finds Jimmy Novak easily enough, peacefully asleep in front of the television in his home in Pontiac, Illinois.  He stands outside the window watching him sleep, then turns his attention to the television, which is broadcasting the story of a man lying about the presence of angels.  That’s when Castiel decides to cuts in.  It takes him a moment to adjust the frequencies when he becomes sidetracked by how much the world has changed since last he was here.

“Jimmy, I need your help.”

Jimmy awakens when Castiel begins to speak, sitting up and staring at the television.  It fills the angel with hope, and he rushes through the big speech, in a hurry to have it finished.

“I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, and you are a descendent in the bloodline of my vessels.  It’s a long and – “

Jimmy tries to turn off the television with the remote and when that doesn't work, he pushes himself up out of the chair.  He approaches and leans in, staring at the screen in bewilderment, then reaches to the side to try to turn it off again.

“No, wait!  I _must_ talk to you.  I know you can hear me.  Jimmy!”

Just as Dean did in the gas station, Jimmy covers his ears to shield himself from Castiel’s voice.  Castiel yowls in frustration and Jimmy falls to the floor, clutching his head until convulsions overtake him, leaving him jerking on the floor in front of the television.  When the man’s body stills, Castiel waits silently, afraid he’s permanently damaged the potential vessel.  When Jimmy starts to come around again, he lurches to his feet and starts to look around, wild-eyed.

“Jimmy Novak?” Castiel whispers it this time and the man stares incredulously at the television.

“Wh- who are you?”

“I am Castiel.”  Another whisper.

“ _What_ are you, Castiel?”

“I am an Angel of the Lord.”

Jimmy collapses back to the floor as his knees give way.  His mouth opens, then closes again as he draws himself to sit cross-legged, still staring at the screen.  He blinks and rubs his eyes, then blinks again.

“Am I dead?”

“You are chosen.”

“Right, but am I _dead_?”

Humans are a lot more work than they used to be.  The first time he took a vessel, Castiel had the woman talked into letting him wear her in under five minutes.  He tries to keep his frustration at bay, with limited success, when he answers.

“ _No_ , you’re not dead _,_ ” he sighs, a little louder than intended, and Jimmy’s hands go back to his ears.  Castiel waits for him to lower them again before he continues.  “You are chosen to carry out God’s work, if you will give your permission.”

Jimmy’s gaze settles on the floor in front of his crossed legs.  Castiel waits impatiently.

“I’m dreaming.  I must be dreaming.  Is this a dream?  A prank?  Did someone dose me before I went to sleep?  Did my medication stop working?” The man leans forward to tap on the television screen.

“You are from a chosen bloodline, and I need your help to complete my mission, Jimmy.  I am an angel and I am here because I _must_ speak with a man who cannot hear me the way you do.  I am real; this is real.  Do you understand?”

Jimmy sits back.  He looks up at the ceiling and rubs his forehead, then the back of his neck before he pinches his bare wrist below his dress shirt’s cuff.  The pinch makes him jump.  He stares at the television screen again and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Why would you want me?  I’m just a nobody.  A nobody with a broken mind.”

“You are more special than you realize, your very blood is holy and you are important to God’s work.”

Jimmy looks down at the floor, hunched in on himself.  Castiel watches him for a long moment and he can almost see the thoughts coming together in the man’s head as he starts to make connections.  At long last, Jimmy looks back up at the television, his body the picture of serenity.

“How can I help you, Castiel?”

“I will contact you again to give you details.”

The last thing Castiel sees before he flies away is Jimmy nodding at the evangelist who has reappeared on his television screen and stretching out on the floor to stare at the ceiling.

***

Being summoned is not pleasant.  One moment, Castiel was taking a moment to himself to lie on the warm ground in Joshua’s Garden and the next, he felt something wrap like tendrils of ice through his grace, choking him and pulling him away from the happily buzzing bees.  He cried out to Joshua for all the good it did him, but there was no stopping the force that was dragging him to Earth.  Slowly, a woman’s words filter through the haze of unexpected flight.

“ _I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.  
I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle._ ”

“No!”  Castiel understands too late what is happening.  He claws at the ether, finding purchase when he reaches the wall of the frame house.  He’s able to push his words through the television in the room with the psychic as he barely stops himself from being pulled into the room bodily.  “I am…  I am Castiel.  You _can’t_ look upon my face.  Psychic!  You must stop and turn back!  _Please_.”

“ _I invoke, conjure, and command_ …  Castiel?  No.  Sorry, Castiel, I don’t scare easy.”  The woman’s voice is strong and sure.  Under different circumstances, Castiel would admire her bravery.  Instead, he rebukes her foolhardiness with a hissed whisper.

“I’m begging you to look away.  Don’t do this.  Human eyes were never meant to…  You _can’t_..”

“Castiel?”  Dean Winchester’s voice is clear as a bell.  Castiel stops short at the hint of recognition in the man’s voice.  He does remember!

“Its name.”  The psychic tells Dean.  “It’s whispering to me, warning me to turn back.”

“LISTEN TO ME!” Castiel is desperate to turn the psychic from her task.  Everyone in the room will be injured or killed if she succeeds, and he can’t bear the thought of harming Dean, even accidentally.

“ _I conjure and command you, show me your face._  
 _I conjure and command you, show me your face._  
 _I conjure and command you, show me your face._  
 _I conjure and command you, show me your face.”_

“STOP.  PLEASE STOP.  I WILL TELL YOU WHAT YOU WANT TO KNOW.  BUT NOT LIKE…”

Castiel is pulled through the wall into a room adjoining the one containing Dean and the psychic against his will and he grabs at whatever he can catch to stop himself from being dragged the rest of the way.

“Maybe we should stop.”  It’s another man, not Dean.  Castiel says a silent prayer that the psychic will listen to him.

“I’ve almost got it,” she answers.  “ _I command you, show me your face!  Show me your face NOW!_ ”

There’s nothing Castiel can do when the psychic gazes upon him except to be thankful that, in the end, she had to bridge the last of the gap between them with her powers.  He sees before him a woman, young and beautiful, with a defiant set to her features.  When she sees his form, her eyes widen in awe and then terror before the very sockets start to burn with the light of the stardust he was born from.  Her terrible screams ring through the small spaces of the house and Castiel vaguely hears shouting and commotion.

As soon as the strangling grip on his grace is released, he takes flight.  With the certain knowledge that Michael won’t help him, never has Castiel more sorely missed the brothers and sister who chose to join the human race.  If ever there’d been a task where he could have used Anna, Gabriel, and Balthazar on his side, this is it.

***

Castiel alights outside Jimmy Novak’s house, keeping himself carefully hidden.  He tries to shake off the psychic’s screams and the vision of her burning eyes, tries to calm himself and ignore the ache in his grace.  He _had_ tried to warn her, but it’s a small consolation.  He finds Jimmy chopping vegetables on the counter beside a pot of boiling water.

He looks calm, which is the first thing that has gone right for Castiel today.  Since their meeting last night, Castiel has answered Jimmy every time he called out.  Over and over Castiel has reassured the man that he’s not crazy or hallucinating or being ‘pranked’.  Over and over Jimmy has anxiously accepted his soothing words and promises of instructions soon to come and allowed Castiel to go.

“Jimmy?”  Castiel whispers, sparking the radio in the kitchen to life with his voice.  “If you are ready, I have a task for you.”

Jimmy puts down his knife and comes to the sound of Castiel’s voice, leaning down to listen.

“The plan is in motion, and I will soon reveal everything, but first I need a show of faith from you.  If you have faith in God and trust in my protection, you will be able to stick your hand into that boiling water without injury.  Go, now, show me your faith.”

Castiel allows a small part of his grace to envelope Jimmy for protection and then he watches as Jimmy returns to the stove and takes a deep breath, then plunges his hand into the pot.  Fear flickers across his face, and surprise, then peace settles around him as he stands with his hand in boiling water then swirls it around, watching his own actions with a sense of wonder. 

With the strengthening effect of Jimmy’s faith on Castiel’s grace, the man can survive anything short of an angel blade.  Castiel doesn’t have the chance to tell him that before Jimmy’s wife enters the house, dropping her grocery bags in the hallway.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Her tone fearful, bordering on panicked.

“It’s okay.  I’m okay.”  Jimmy puts out a hand reassuringly as Castiel watches, pleased with the man’s ability to remain unruffled.

“Jimmy..”

“Look,” he tells her, pulling his hand out of the water to show her that there’s no damage, then pushing it back under the surface for emphasis.

“What’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.  He asked me to do it.”  Jimmy’s smile never falters as his wife watches, disbelieving, while he removes his hand from the water again and shakes the droplets from his fingers. 

“Who asked you to do it?” She looks around in confusion, trying to find the unknown ‘he’ of whom Jimmy speaks.

“Castiel, to prove my faith.”  Jimmy studies his hand closely, in awe, looking for any sign of injury as he speaks.  Just as Castiel promised, there is no injury to be found.  He offers his hand for his wife’s inspection.  “Look.  I’m fine.  It’s a miracle.”

“Who’s Castiel?”

Humans today are so much work.  Castiel remembers a time when something such as this would have brought people flocking to temples to pray and beg for miracles of their own.  Today, they ask too many questions.  Unable to answer for himself, Castiel leaves the task in Jimmy’s capable – and undamaged – hands as he goes to find Dean Winchester.  It’s worth one last attempt to talk to the Righteous Man without a vessel.  If he’s successful, Castiel won’t have to take Jimmy from his family.

***

Dean Winchester is surprisingly mobile for a man fresh out of the grave.  Castiel tracks him to a run down motel and waits until the man he recognizes as Dean’s brother sneaks out the door.  From his concealed perch on the top of the building, Castiel watches in disdain as the demon-blooded abomination leaves, his stench filling the air.  He remembers the night the demon snuck into the boy’s nursery, and his disgust grows.  He never should have allowed those things to come to pass. 

As the taillights of the loud, black car fade into the distance, Castiel comes down from on high to stand at the window of the motel as he reaches out to the elder Winchester boy again, pushing his voice through both the television and the radio.  His talks with Jimmy Novak clued him in to the fact that the two technologies modulate his voice differently, so there’s nothing to lose in trying both.

“Dean Winchester?” He whispers, trying not to scare the sleeping man.  “Do you hear me?  You recognized my name at the psychic’s house.”

Dean sits up and rubs his eyes before he lunges for a shotgun.  Castiel observes the man’s bewilderment when he realizes his brother is gone.

“Dean, I must speak with you,” he continues, growing impatient as Dean reaches to cover one ear, still holding the shotgun in his other hand.  “I am _part_ of you, _why_ can’t you hear me?”

The rise in Castiel’s tone sends glass skittering across the floor and down from the ceiling as windows and mirrors shatter.  He growls in exasperation, “When I see you next, we _will_ talk, Dean Winchester!”

Castiel leaves his final unheard promise hanging in the air as Dean falls to the floor, clutching at his ears and screaming in pain.

***

Jimmy Novak calls out to Castiel who finds him standing on the sidewalk in front of his house.

“So, I wanna help you.  I’m about to lose my.. my family here if you don’t tell me how.”

He was already on his way to formally ask Jimmy to become his vessel, having exhausted all other possible options.  He pauses, hovering as he watches Jimmy one last time.  He can feel the pride and the nervousness rolling off the man’s soul, see it in the way he shifts and shifts again as he looks around for any sign of the angel who’s been whispering to him.

“Please, Castiel, just talk to me.  What do you want from me?”

Castiel is struck by the sincerity of the humble plea.  He makes himself almost visible to Jimmy, dropping the cloak of grace from around his wings and allowing the flaming light to shine down and bathe the man in his glow.

“In order for me to walk among men, to make myself heard to those who don’t have your abilities, I must be sheathed in a human body – a vessel.  You are a descendent in the unbroken bloodline of my first vessel.  The time has come, Jimmy Novak, for me to ask you to grant me permission to enter your body.  If you allow me entry, my body will fuse with yours and my grace will bind to your soul. 

You will be aware, but I will be in control.  You will not eat, or sleep and nothing save an angel blade can kill you.  I can heal any other damage inflicted.  We will leave your family at once, and I cannot promise where we will go or when you will return.  When your work is done, I _will_ return you to them unharmed.  Do you understand?”

Jimmy shifts again as he considers, nods, and loosens his tie.  Castiel can feel his nervous energy spike as he looks back up to see the angel hovering over him for the first time.

“Yes, I understand.  Promise my family will be okay and I’ll do it.”

“Your wife and daughter will be well-protected.  I will see to it that no harm comes to them in your absence.”

“Then, yes,” Jimmy answers quietly.

Castiel fully uncloaks himself as Jimmy looks up, allowing the human to see him in all his seraphic glory for the first time.  Jimmy’s eyes widen as Castiel starts to pack himself into the much-too-small body, fusing himself molecule by molecule into Jimmy.  As their bodies melt into one, he notices the air temperature for the first time.  He can feel the wetness in the swirling air clinging to his body and the weight of the clothes.

Castiel carefully nestles Jimmy’s soul inside his own grace, binding himself to his vessel lovingly.  When he feels his heart beating for the first time and the blood it pushes through his veins, he draws a sharp breath.  His lungs expand, and he feels suddenly very alive with the scent of snow and cold.  It takes a long moment to tuck his wings into the vessel’s body, pulling them in tight as he wriggles inside the borrowed skin to make himself as comfortable as possible.

He can feel Jimmy scrabbling around in his mind, trying to get comfortable as well.  And he abruptly knows that the man’s wife is called Amelia and his daughter is called Claire and Jimmy, prior to this moment, worked in advertising and has never traveled more than two hundred miles from Pontiac, Illinois.  He was raised by devout parents, a good man and woman.  He met Amelia in college, and they fell in love at first sight.  Claire was called a miracle child, born after Amelia had been declared barren.  There is so much _more_ waiting to be uncovered, but it will have to wait.

Castiel feels unsteady on two legs with no wings for balance, but he will adjust in time.  Once he’s finally packed himself inside the body he looks around, seeing everything through the veil of human lashes.  The wind has stung his eyes, made them burn, but his attention is drawn to the hand he lifts instead.  He flexes the fingers, studies their movement with the wonder borne of someone who has rarely had such small, bone-filled hands to work with.

He can sense the human’s approach from behind; hear small feet scuff on the wood plank porch before he hears the child’s voice call out.

“Daddy?”

Castiel turns and looks at Claire.  He tilts his head, studying her carefully.  It’s been so long since he’s seen a human through human eyes that he’d forgotten how breathtaking they were.  Her blonde hair is vivid in this new view, as are her clothes.  He notices every detail of her face and the wooden door behind her and the number “428” on the wall beside her.  It’s overwhelming how much a man and an angel together can see.  His curiosity satisfied, Castiel turns away from the child and looks down the sidewalk.

“I am not your father,” he replies before walking away, trying to look everywhere at once lest he miss some detail now available to him.

***

Castiel’s body strains the confines of the human he’s wearing and the itching in his still tender wings is most upsetting.  He flutters gracelessly to the ground in his unaccustomed body just outside the huge barn to the sound Dean’s friend performing a Latin ritual.  It wasn’t a bad ritual as they go, but it wasn’t anything that would summon an angel against his will, more something to guide him to them and ask him nicely to come talk. 

Castiel prepares himself, excited to meet Dean Winchester face to face in a form that can’t be ignored for the first time.  He takes a deep breath and studies the outside of the barn before he walks forward.  The power of his contained grace rattles the roof like a strong wind, shakes the walls and the cement foundation of the barn.

He doesn’t think to open the doors.  He knows he needs to be on the other side of them, and they bend to his will.  He sets his gaze on Dean, eyes flicking occasionally to the walls to read the primitive scrawls.  Some of the painted symbols are accurate, and some of them are offensively miswritten.  It’s easy to ignore the minor annoyance of the lightbulbs popping around his head in response to the power crammed into the tiny human body.  The sparks raining down onto him don’t even register.

Here is Castiel’s charge, at long last, and nothing else is worthy of attention.  The rock salt and bullets Dean and his friend are shooting don’t faze Castiel.  He continues walking slowly, studying the man he risked his life for, the reason his once beautiful white wings are now permanently blackened.  As he closes in on the men, Dean scrambles away, grabbing a knife off the table.

Castiel tries to show that he’s no danger, ducking his head slightly as anger and fear roll off Dean’s soul in equal measure.  He watches Dean’s face, looking for the smallest hint of recognition, but finds none. 

“Who are you?” Dean asks roughly, still backing away.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.”

Castiel is unable to keep the pride out of his voice.  This man, this beautiful, scared, Righteous Man is the culmination of the angel’s life’s work.  Everything he’s done from the moment he was brought into existence led him to this moment, to this one man.  And now he’s here, standing in front of Castiel, close enough to touch.

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

Castiel smiles, pleased to be recognized by such an important human for his effort.  The knife plunged into his chest makes him doubt the sincerity of Dean’s thanks more than just a little, but he lets the tantrum slide.  He looks down to see the hilt sticking out of Jimmy’s body.  It’s amusing, really, that someone as smart as Dean Winchester would mistake Castiel for a demon.

He looks back up, struck by how much more beautiful Dean’s freckled face is when it’s not covered in blood and plastered with a cruel smile.  Castiel pulls the knife from his chest easily and drops it to the floor as Dean’s eyes go wide and he looks over toward the friend who has stationed himself – Castiel supposes strategically – behind the angel.

He feels the air shift as the man starts to swing something and raises a hand to catch the heavy iron rod before the blow can fall.  Throughout, Castiel holds Dean’s gaze, wishing he could make him remember.  On the other hand, if Dean doesn’t remember Castiel, perhaps he doesn’t remember Hell at all.  If so, then it’s for the better.

Castiel finally looks away from Dean to deal with the annoyance still tugging on the iron rod.  He presses two fingers to the man’s forehead and watches impassively as he crumples to the floor.  One of the advantages of wearing a human is that he can do things like this more easily.  A little application of grace and the bearded man will sleep peacefully while Castiel _finally_ has a necessary and long overdue talk with Dean.

When Castiel turns back around, Dean’s eyes are wide and his breath is coming quick and shallow as his fear increases.  If Castiel has any chance of getting through to him, he will have to calm him down.

“We need to talk, Dean.  Alone.”

Dean ignores him and crouches down to check on his friend.  It’s easy to forget that humans can’t hear other humans’ hearts beat from a distance.  No wonder Dean is worried about the sleeping man.  Castiel leaves him to it for the moment to flip through a Bible on the table.  It’s in English, and he’s never read anything in English before.  Anyway, maybe if he gives Dean a little time, he will be able to calm himself and there won’t be any more unnecessary stabbing.

“You friend’s alive,” Castiel murmurs, trying to soothe as he flips through pages, astounded by the inaccuracies in words attributed to his Father.

“Who are you?” Dean practically spits the words at him, vitriol dripping from every syllable, and Castiel can feel animosity in waves from the still crouched man.

“Castiel.”

“Yeah, I figured that much.  I mean _what_ are you?”

Castiel looks up from his reading.  Dean looks terrified and small where he’s crouched beside the other man and Castiel’s mind is suddenly back in Hell where Dean’s soul cowered and pleaded for mercy.  There’s still no recognition in Dean’s face.  The knowledge of this ongoing inability to make the man feel safe tightens Castiel’s throat as he answers.

“I’m an Angel of the Lord.”

Dean rises slowly to his feet, his face hard as he glares at Castiel; his voice is low, threatening. 

“Get the hell out of here.  There’s no such thing.”

Castiel puts the book aside and turns to face Dean.  If it’s proof he wants, it’s proof he’ll have.

“This is your problem, Dean.  You have no faith.”

With that, Castiel takes a deep breath and pushes outward with his grace.  The atoms bleeding out of his back split the air and cause a sound like thunder as he displays and spreads a shadow of his uppermost pair of wings in sharp relief for Dean to see.  Rather than the awe he expected, he gets more suspicion.

“Some angel _you_ are,” he growls.  “You burned out that poor woman’s eyes.”

Castiel drops his gaze.  Dean’s right.  It doesn’t matter that he tried to warn her.  It was his fault for not finding a way to stop her.  Regardless, he feels that he owes Dean an explanation.

“I warned her not to spy on my true form.  It can be..” He looks up, meets Dean’s eyes. “..overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice.  But you already knew that.”

“You mean the gas station and the motel,” Dean asks, nodding to himself as he makes the connection.  “That was you talking?”

Castiel nods, holding Dean’s gaze as he searches for a sign that Dean understood him.  Instead of relaxing in his presence, Dean seems to be more afraid as his understanding grows.  He’s backing away incrementally, his voice growing tighter and starting to quiver. 

“Buddy, next time lower the volume.”

“That was my mistake,” Castiel replies.  “Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage.  I thought you would be one of them.  I was wrong.”

The more answers Castiel gives, the more anger he gets in return.  It rolls off Dean’s soul like a shockwave, almost painful to Castiel’s grace.  He would give anything to understand why Dean is so angry with _him_ of all creatures.  Dean wavers between anger and fear as he snarls at Castiel.

“And what _visage_ are you in now, huh?  What, holy tax accountant?”

“This?”  Castiel looks down at his torn and bloodstained clothing, then back up at Dean.  “This is..  a vessel.”

“You’re possessing some poor bastard?” Dean’s eyes go cold again, a spark of what Castiel saw in them on that unholy plot of land in the bowels of Hell.

“He’s a devout man,” Castiel explains.  If Dean only knew how willing Jimmy had been to take this assignment from Heaven, perhaps he would be less hostile.  “He actually prayed for this.”

“Well, I’m not buying what you’re selling, so who are you really?”

Castiel is perplexed that at this point in the conversation, Dean is still asking the same questions.  He tilts his head and studies the man before him.  He’s certain Dean isn’t stupid.  Perhaps it’s his fear..  or his anger..  that’s clouding his understanding.  Castiel frowns at the repetitious nature of the conversation.

“I told you.”

“Right.”  Dean trembles almost imperceptibly, his disbelief palpable in the air between them.  “And why would an _angel_ come rescue me from Hell?”

Castiel closes the distance between their bodies, wanting nothing more than to reach out and heal this man the way he healed his soul in the Vestibule of Hell.  He needs Dean to understand, so Castiel spells it out for him, “Good things do happen, Dean.”

“Not in my experience.”  Dean’s voice is barely more than a whisper; his sincerity is heartbreaking.  What has he experienced that Castiel wasn’t there for?  That Castiel should have protected him from?  After all this time, the little boy grew up to be a man who believes his mother lied when she said that angels were watching over him. 

“What’s the matter?” It finally becomes clear to Castiel.  Dean blames _himself_ for the tragedies that have befallen his family.  He must think that everything that has happened to him was what he _deserved_.  “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

When Dean jerks away as though he’s been hit, Castiel knows his theory is correct and again he feels the flush of shame and self-recrimination burn hot through him.  Since Dean blames himself for everything that Castiel caused; Castiel will find a way to make it up to him.  No matter what.

“Why’d you do it?” Dean’s rage is barely contained, but Castiel doesn’t shy away.  He looks Dean straight in the eye and tells him the truth.

“Because God commanded it,” Castiel answers.  “Because we have work for you.”

Dean’s face is as cold as his voice when he whispers, “You need to leave, _Castiel_.  Now.”

Castiel nods and offers a half smile.  Tentatively, he reaches out with his grace, trying to touch Dean’s soul, but for the moment it is still impenetrable.

“Of course.”  With his quick agreement, he feels Dean begin to relax for the first time since he arrived.  “I will find you when you’ve had time to come to terms with everything.  It _is_ a lot for a human to understand.”

Dean looks like he’s on the verge of saying something else as Castiel takes flight, leaving the Righteous Man standing in the darkened barn with his still unconscious friend.  A rush of excitement goes through the angel as he thinks of all the chances he will have to prove to Dean Winchester that angels _are_ watching over him. 


End file.
